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FIELD  DAYS  IN  CALIFORNIA.   Illustrated. 

FRIENDS   ON   THE   SHELF. 

NATURE'S    INVITATION. 

THE   CLERK   OF   THE  WOODS. 

FOOTING    IT    IN    FRANCONIA. 

EVERYDAY  BIRDS.  Elementary  Studies. 
With  twelve  colored  Illustrations  repro- 
duced from  Audubon. 

BIRDS    IN   THE    BUSH. 

A   RAMBLER'S    LEASE. 

THE    FOOT-PATH    WAY. 

A   FLORIDA   SKETCH-BOOK. 

SPRING    NOTES    FROM   TENNESSEE. 

A   WORLD   OF   GREEN    HILLS. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York 


FIELD-DAYS    IN   CALIFORNIA 


Field-Days  in  California 

BY 

BRADFORD   TORREY 

With  Illustrations  from  Photographs 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN    COMPANY 
(3Dt)e  0ibEr?ibe  j^tess  Cambri&oe 


COPYRIGHT,    I913,    BY   HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  February  iqij 


TO 

A.   T.   S. 


qWi 


t  h 


Uxj 


*'*M.COLi.co.u.n.., 


NOTE 

The  greater  number  of  the  sketches  in  this 
book  originally  appeared  in  the  Christimi  En- 
deavor World.  Of  the  others  two  were  contrib- 
uted to  the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  one  to  the 
Boston  Evening  Transcript,  All  have  been  largely 
revised,  and  some  have  received  substantial  ad- 
ditions. B.  T. 

Bradford  Torrey  died  at  Santa  Barbara,  Cali- 
fornia, October  7,  191 2,  two  days  before  his  sixty- 
ninth  birthday.  He  had  sent  this  book  to  the 
Publishers  some  weeks  before,  but  had  not  had 
an  opportunity  to  read  the  proof.  The  manuscript 
had  been  prepared,  however,  with  that  scrupulous 
care  which  he  always  exercised  in  his  literary 
work,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he 
would  have  made  any  important  alterations,  even 
in  detail,  if  he  had  lived  to  see  it  through  the 
press. 

The  Publishers  have  sought  to  give  the  volume 
something  of  a  memorial  character  by  providing 
a  portrait  of  the  Author  and  illustrations  from 
photographs  of  localities  treated  in  the  book,  in 
two  of  which  Mr.  Torrey  himself  appears. 


CONTENTS 

A  California  Beach i 

In  the  Estero 44 

An  Exciting  Forenoon 58 

A  Long  Procession 70 

A  Visitation  of  Swans 80 

My  First  Condor    .      .      »      .      .      .      .  93 

My  First  Water-Ouzels 100 

An  Unsuccessful  Hunt m 

Yellow-billed  Magpies 121 

Some  Rock-haunting  Birds       ....  130 

Under  the  Redwoods 139 

In  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains      .      .      .149 

Reading  a  Check-List 160 

On  Foot  in  the  Yosemite 170 

A  Bird-Gazer  at  the  Grand  Canon    .      .  204 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bradford  ToRREY :  1 843-191 2.   Photogravure 

Frontispiece 

Santa  Ynez  Mountains  from  San  Marcos 
Pass,  above  Santa  Barbara,  Mr.  Torrey  in 
foreground 2 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

The  Beach  at  Santa  Barbara   ....   32 

Photograph  by  George  R.  King 

Laguna  Blanca,  with  Water-Fowl    ...      80 
A  Gorge  in  the  Side  of  Mount  Lowe     .      .      96 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

An  Oak  Pasture  near  Paso  Robles  .      .      .116 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

Midway  Point,  Seventeen-Mile  Drive,  near 
Pacific  Grove 134 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

Vernal  Fall,  Yosemite  Valley,  Mr.  Torrey 
with  a  friend  on  the  bridge 1 76 

Photograph  by  Herbert  W.  Gleason 

The  Grand  Canon 216 

Photograph  by  George  R.  King 


Field-Days  in  California 


A  CALIFORNIA  BEACH 

OUR  Santa  Barbara  beach,  taken  by  itself,  is 
not  much  to  talk  about.  Whether  for  length, 
breadth,  hardness,  or  cleanliness,  you  may  read- 
ily find  numbers  to  surpass  it.  But  for  a  bird- 
student's  purposes  it  is  a  reasonably  good  beach, 
nevertheless ;  in  the  run  of  the  year  it  will  show 
him  many  a  good  thing,  while  for  the  simple 
lover  of  beauty  it  will  hold  up  its  end  in  any 
comparison. 

Immediately  at  its  back,  beyond  the  railway 
and  the  cobweb  of  telegraph-wires  strung  beside 
it,  rise  the  Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  filling  the  hori- 
zon with  a  magnificent  curving  reach  —  a  visible 
reach,  I  mean  to  say  —  of  fifty  miles,  more  or 
less.  Easterly,  down  the  coast,  where  the  range, 
seen  from  this  point,  seems  to  jut  into  the  ocean, 
the  lower  peaks  are  of  rarely  picturesque  shapes ; 
and,  dressed  in  the  soft  morning  or  evening  light, 
especially,  the  whole  serrated  range,  three  or 
four  thousand  feet  in  altitude  and  covered  with 
evergreen  chaparral,  is  of  a  truly  exquisite  beauty. 
I 


N,  C  Si.    -       .. 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Its  neighborliness  —  some  of  the  higher  summits 
being  not  more  than  five  or  six  miles  away  —  and 
its  almost  semicircular  sweep  make  it  in  a  pecu- 
liarly intimate  sense  our  own.  Live  here  for  a 
year  or  two,  and  you  will  feel  it  so.  It  stretches 
its  arms  about  the  city  and  the  beach,  and,  as  it 
were,  holds  them  in  its  lap. 

And  then,  straight  out  at  sea,  loom  the  islands, 
Anacapa,  Santa  Cruz,  and  Santa  Rosa,  all  of 
which,  standing  in  a  line,  are  but  severed  parts 
of  another  mountain  range,  under  water  still  ex- 
cept for  these  higher  summits.  Santa  Cruz,  the 
nearest  and  highest  of  the  three  and  the  one 
directly  south  of  the  city,  is  said  to  be  twenty 
miles  distant,  though  in  a  favorable  light  you 
might  guess  it  to  be  less  than  half  as  far,  and 
twenty  miles  long,  with  a  maximum  altitude  of 
about  twenty-four  hundred  feet.  Scored  from  end 
to  end  with  deep,  rugged  canons,  in  which  shadows 
nestle,  especially  when  the  morning  sun  strikes 
along  it  lengthwise,  the  reader  must  be  trusted 
to  imagine  for  himself  how  much  it  adds  to  the 
charm  of  our  fair  Santa  Barbara  world  as  one 
saunters  along  the  edge  of  the  breakers  on  a 
clear,  sunny  day,  with  the  softest  of  airs  moving 
in  from  the  ocean,  and  the  temperature  gradu- 
ated on  purpose  for  human  comfort,  such  a  day  as 
we  have  month-long  successions  of  in  every  year. 

2r 


"^      ^ 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

It  is  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  to  make 
some  of  our  knowing  Eastern  friends  believe 
that  any  spot  in  southern  California  can  be  com- 
fortably cool  in  summer.  "No  need  to  talk  to 
us,"  they  say  with  an  air  of  finality,  as  if  logic 
were  logic  and  there  were  an  end  of  it ;  "  if  it  is 
warm  there  in  winter,  it  must  be  insufferably  hot 
in  summer." 

Well,  it  is  moderately  warm  here  in  winter,  so 
warm,  at  all  events,  that  the  gardens,  in  spite  of 
frequent  frosts  (the  roofs  thickly  white,  it  may 
be,  morning  after  morning  for  weeks  together)  — 
the  gardens,  I  say  (and  this  is  one  of  the  Califor- 
nia mysteries;  I  wish  somebody  would  explain 
it),  are  bright  with  a  profusion  of  delicate  semi- 
tropical  flowers,  fuchsias,  begonias,  poinsettias, 
and  a  hundred  more,  all  in  the  freshest  of  condi- 
tion, the  whole  season  long ;  and  for  all  that,  and 
though  there  is  no  gainsaying  that  logic  is  logic, 
a  really  hot  day  in  summer  is  one  of  the  rarest 
of  happenings.  Day  after  day  we  fortunate  Bar- 
baranos  read  of  deadly  heats  throughout  the 
East^  and  "Middle  West,"  and  day  after  day 
and  week  after  week,  through  June,  July,  and 

*  Five  hundred  and  odd  prostrations  in  a  single  day  was  the 
word  a  Boston  newspaper  brought  me  within  a  week.  I  have 
yet  to  hear  of  the  first  one  in  Santa  Barbara ;  but,  of  course, 
logic  is  logiCo 

3 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

August,  our  better-behaved  thermometers  fluctu- 
ate between  sixty  and  seventy-five  degrees,  with 
now  and  then,  not  to  be  entirely  out  of  the  fash- 
ion, an  hour-long  mid-afternoon  ascension  into 
the  lower  eighties  ;  and  night  after  night,  the  mer- 
cury in  the  meantime  having  subsided  into  the 
sixties,  or,  not  unlikely,  into  the  upper  fifties, 
we  sleep  soundly  under  a  double  thickness  of 
blankets. 

For  my  own  part  I  have  spent  my  third  sum- 
mer here,  and  in  that  time  I  have  endured  —  in 
September — one  ^'heated  term,"  when  for  five 
days  the  sea-breeze  failed  us,  and,  as  if  for  our 
sins,  the  dry,  burning  breath  of  the  desert  found 
its  way  over  the  mountains  ;  and  even  that  vis- 
itation, unwelcome  as  it  was,  might  truthfully 
have  been  called  something  like  comfort  in  com- 
parison with  those  periods  of  day-and-night  mis- 
ery, so  many  of  which  I  have  sweltered  through 
in  my  old  Boston  neighborhood.  It  is  pleasant 
in  one's  age  to  escape  the  freezings  and  thawings 
and,  worst  of  all,  the  indoor  confinement  of  a 
New  England  winter ;  but  it  is  pleasanter  still, 
if  you  leave  the  question  to  me,  to  escape  those 
wilting,  melting,  vitality-destroying,  homicidal 
heats  of  a  New  England  summer. 

Dear  old  New  England  !  say  I.  Dear  old  New 
England !  For  me  there  can  never  be  any  other 
4 


A  CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

part  of  the  world  to  compare  with  it.  All  that  I 
ever  saw  of  it  is  precious  to  me,  from  the  sands 
of  Cape  Cod  to  the  mountains  of  New  Hamp- 
shire. In  my  hours  of  recollection  I  protest  with 
one  of  old,  "  I  take  pleasure  in  its  stones,  and 
favor  the  dust  thereof." 

But,  alas !  the  implacable  years  are  having 
their  way  with  me;  the  almond  tree  begins  to 
flourish;  and  I  no  longer  relish  the  thought  of 
those  more  rigorous  chastisements  with  which 
our  dutiful  Puritan  mother  seeks  to  toughen  her 
children.  Dear  old  New  England  !  Thrice  dear 
in  absence.  But,  if  I  am  not  yet  a  lotus-eater,  I 
have  ceased  to  play  the  stoic.  It  is  time  to  be 
comfortable,  something  tells  me  ;  and  so,  as  bad 
boys  were  said  sometimes  to  do  in  other  days,  I 
have  run  away  from  school. 

Men  of  sixty  or  seventy  who  proclaim  that  they 
feel  just  as  young  as  ever  they  did  are  mostly 
liars,  I  think. 

Many  years  ago,  when  I  was  dreaming  of  a 
possible  visit  to  the  Pacific  coast,  a  bit  of  dia- 
logue was  rehearsed  to  me  by  way  of  a  deterrent 
consideration.  A  friend,  who  has  no  fondness 
for  cold  weather,  though,  being  a  more  loyal 
Northerner  than  some,  he  will  never  run  away 
from  it,  had  been  quizzing  a  neighbor  recently 
returned  from  California. 
5 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

"Well,  do  you  like  wind  ? "  asked  the  returned 
traveler. 

'♦No." 

"  Do  you  like  dust .? " 

"No." 

"Do  you  like  fleas?" 

"No." 

"  Then  you  would  n't  like  California." 

A  discouraging  picture.  And  truthfully  drawn, 
of  that  I  make  no  question,  according  to  the 
man's  lights.  No  doubt  there  are  many  parts 
of  California  —  I  myself  could  name  one  or  two 
—  which  suffer  grievously  from  all  these  plagues, 
as  there  are  many  which  suffer  from  months  of 
intolerable  heat.  But  I  am  talking  of  Santa 
Barbara,  and  here  is  my  testimony  :  — 

In  my  almost  three  years  of  residence  I  have 
not  seen  so  much  as  one  flea,  though  I  have 
heard  of  those  who  have  had  a  less  happy  ex- 
perience ;  I  have  been  no  more  troubled  by  dust, 
for  all  the  regular  annual  drought  of  seven  or 
eight  months,  than  I  have  been  in  many  places  in 
the  East ;  while,  as  for  wind,  I  have  never  lived 
anywhere  where  there  was  not  at  least  several 
times  as  much.  In  that  respect,  indeed,  the 
place  is  nothing  less  than  a  wonder.  To  use  the 
word  of  the  hour,  I  must  believe  that  it  holds 
the  world's  record. 

6 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

I  remember  successive  weeks  and  months  in 
Massachusetts  during  the  cooler  season  when  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  hit  upon  a  day  at  the 
seashore  in  which  the  air  would  be  still  enough 
to  leave  a  man's  eyes  clear  for  nice  ornithological 
observation  through  a  field-glass.  Here,  taking 
the  twelve  months  together,  there  may  be  ten 
or  twelve  hours,  mostly  at  night,  of  a  really 
smart  gale,  and  as  many  half-days  of  a  moder- 
ately brisk  wind,  truly  moderate,  but  extremely 
disagreeable,  if  one  must  be  out  of  doors,  by 
reason  of  the  dust  it  raises.  For  the  rest  of  the 
time  the  strongest  movement  will  be  a  lazy 
breeze  (two  or  three,  or  possibly  five  or  six, 
miles  an  hour),  barely  sufficient,  for  the  most 
part,  to  stir  the  leaves ;  and  you  may  walk  the 
beach,  or  recline  upon  the  sands,  be  it  January 
or  July,  with  a  clear  vision  and  complete  animal 
comfort. 

At  all  seasons  the  beach  is  an  unfailing  re- 
source for  the  stroller.  No  matter  how  muddy 
the  country  roads  may  sometimes  be  in  winter 
(in  the  adhesive  adobe  parts  of  them  all  but  im- 
passable on  foot  —  I  have  lost  a  rubber  overshoe 
in  such  places  more  than  once),  nor  how  dusty 
the  worst  neglected  of  them  may  become  in 
summer,  the  beach  is  always  at  our  service,  since 
it  is  a  wholesome  quality  of  sand  to  be  rain- 
7 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

proof  and  sun-proof ;  at  the  worst  of  times  nei- 
ther muddy  nor  dusty.  For  m3^self  I  have  had 
numberless  good  hours  there,  an'd  not  a  few  that 
might  truthfully  be  called  exciting. 

If  I  had  a  bank  full  of  money,  I  once  in  a 
while  find  myself  thinking  (and  perhaps  wiser 
men  than  I  might  own  to  the  same  sort  of  fool- 
ishness), I  could  do  this  or  that.  But,  after  all, 
what  could  I  do  so  very  much  better,  school 
being  dismissed,  than  to  go  idling  up  and  down 
this  sightly  beach,  looking  or  dreaming  —  and 
enjoying  myself  —  as  the  mood  befalls  ? 

Happy  is  the  man  (I  may  have  said  it  before, 
but  no  matter),  happy  is  the  man  who  has  ac- 
quired an  interest  in  the  world  out  of  doors.  It  is 
an  investment  good  for  both  body  and  soul. 

"  Give  a  man  a  horse  he  can  ride  ; 
Give  a  man  a  boat  he  can  sail ; 
And  his  rank  and  wealth,  his  strength  and  health, 
On  sea  nor  shore  shall  fail." 

For  ''horse"  write  "hobby,"  and  the  rhythm 
may  suffer,  but  the  sense  will  not  be  damaged, 
but  rather  improved. 

And  here  in  this  favored  region,  where  sea  and 
land  meet,  with  a  mockingbird  singing  his  soul 
out  on  one  side  of  you  and  pelicans  plunging  into 
the  water  with  a  mighty  splash  on  the  other  side, 
with  the  fairest  and  friendliest  of  sierras  com- 
8 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

passing  you  about,  the  blue  ocean  outspread  be- 
fore your  eyes,  carrying  them  away  and  away  till 
the  blue  heaven  drops  into  it,  with  seaside  ver- 
benas and  lovely  constellations  of  yellow  prim- 
roses overrunning  the  broken  gray-sand  wind- 
rows just  beyond  the  reach  of  the  breakers,  with 
the  breath  of  the  sea  filling  your  lungs,  and  the 
sun  warming  your  blood,  —  with  all  this,  and  the 
hours  your  own,  what  kind  of  man  must  you  be 
not  to  be  glad  of  living  ? 

In  the  round  of  the  year  the  beach,  with  the 
fiats  and  pools  immediately  adjoining,  is  visited 
—  to  my  own  partial  knowledge,  that  is  to  say  — 
by  eighty  or  ninety  species  of  water-birds  — 
waders,  swimmers,  divers,  and  the  rest. 

Of  all  these,  none  are  more  engaging,  or  more 
constant,  than  the  dainty  little  snowy  plovers ; 
not  snow-white,  to  be  sure,  but  of  a  shade  light 
enough  to  render  the  name  sufficiently  appropri- 
ate as  such  things  go.  Dainty  I  call  them,  and 
so  they  are ;  but  there  should  be  some  more  ex- 
pressive word  for  it,  if  only  I  could  call  it  up ;  so 
exceedingly  quiet  and  neat  in  their  dress ;  trig, 
shall  I  say.?  with  a  few  touches  of  black  — 
complexion-heighteners,  *'  beauty-spots  "  —  on  a 
ground  of  gray  and  white. 

Every  Eastern  bird-student  has  them  in  his  eye 

9 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

when  he  first  comes  to  the  "  coast,"  and  glad 
enough  I  was  to  find  them  at  home  —  "perma- 
nent residents,"  as  the  stock  phrase  is — in 
goodly  numbers  here  at  Santa  Barbara,  where, 
after  wandering  up  and  down  the  State,  I  myself 
had  elected  to  settle.  It  is  much  for  a  man  to  be 
sure  of  good  neighbors. 

Every  day  they  are  here,  and  every  day  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  watch  them ;  now  running  about  or 
standing  at  rest  on  the  gray,  dry  sand  —  too  close 
a  match  in  color  for  even  a  hawk's  eyes,  one 
would  think ;  now  squatting  singly,  here,  there, 
and  yonder,  in  the  footprints  of  horses,  hardly 
more  than  the  head  showing,  one  of  their  pretti- 
est tricks — you  may  sometimes  see  fifty  at  once 
cradled  in  this  cozy  fashion,  for  shelter  against 
the  wind,  or  by  way  of  a  more  comfortable  siesta, 
or,  possibly,  as  affording  a  measure  of  conceal- 
ment ;  and  now  scattered  in  loose  order  along  the 
edge  of  the  surf,  picking  up  the  day's  ration.  An 
extraordinarily  light  repast  this  would  seem  to 
be,  or,  like  the  Israelites*  manna,  one  very  easily 
gathered,  seeing  how  small  a  share  of  the  day 
they  spend  upon  it.  Nine  times  in  ten  you  will 
find  them  doing  nothing,  in  what  looks  like  a 
reposeful  after-dinner  mood,  strikingly  unlike 
the  behavior  of  the  common  run  of  birds,  which 
seem  for  the  most  part  to  make  the  daily  meal 
lO 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

a  sort  of  continuous  refection,  an  uninterrupted 
picnic,  here  a  little  and  there  a  little,  on  strictly 
hygienic  principles,  from  dawn  till  dark. 

As  is  true  of  plovers  in  general,  the  snowy 
(smallest  of  them  all,  as  far  as  my  acquaintance 
with  the  family  goes)  is  amazingly  sudden  and 
spry  in  its  motions,  a  sprinter  of  the  first  rank, 
starting  at  full  speed,  and  scampering  before  you,' 
head  down,  till  its  legs  fairly  twinkle,  they  move 
so  almost  invisibly  fast;  and  you  are  ready  to 
name  it  the  beach-runner,  as  we  call  the  big 
ground-cuckoo  of  our  hillsides  the  road-runner. 
Make  the  course  long  enough,  and  the  cuckoo 
would  undoubtedly  come  under  the  wire  a  strong 
first;  but  even  so  a  fairly  liberal  "time  allow- 
ance "  might  award  the  prize  to  the  smaller  con- 
testant. Anyhow,  it  is  sport  to  see  the  nimble 
midgets  run. 

The  snowy's  voice  is  an  additional  item  in  its 
favor;  a  sweetly  musical  voice,  the  most  frequent 
of  its  utterances  being  a  quick,  sudden  whistle, 
—  not  too  loud,  but  full  of  meaning,  —  which  after 
a  while  becomes  recognizable  as  distinct  from  all 
other  beach  sounds,  though  at  first  hearing  there 
may  seem  to  be  nothing  very  characteristic  about 
it ;  just  as  you  are  able  as  a  matter  of  course  to 
name  numbers  of  your  friends  on  hearing  them 
speak  the  merest  word  or  two,  though  for  your 
II 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

life  you  could  never  tell  even  yourself  how  you 
do  it. 

If  you  are  fortunate  enough  to  startle  the  bird 
from  its  nest,  flat  on  the  open  sand,  and  stoop, 
as  you  will,  to  admire  the  prettily  spotted  eggs, 
packed  so  cleverly,  the  smaller  ends  together,  on 
a  loose  layer,  hardly  more  than  a  sprinkling,  of 
bits  of  seaweed  stuff,  a  nest  impossible  to  take 
up  until  you  have  first  gummed  the  parts  together 
as  they  lie,  the  plover  makes  so  gentle  a  remon- 
strance that  you  would  never  suspect  it  for  such 
but  for  your  own  guilty  consciousness ;  all  in 
extreme  and  most  refreshing  contrast  with  the 
obstreperous  behavior  of  its  larger  relative  and 
neighbor,  the  killdeer. 

This,  also,  is  a  numerous  year-long  resident 
with  us,  every  bird  noisy  enough  for  ten;  with  a. 
rasping,  ear-piercing,  nerve-racking,  in  every  way 
exasperating  voice,  the  sound  of  which  has  often 
made  me  vote  its  possessor  a  nuisance,  especially 
when  I  have  been  seeking  a  close  interview  with 
some  rare  and  interesting  visitor,  —  a  thing  to 
be  accomplished  now  or  never,  perhaps,  —  and 
have  been  thwarted  at  the  critical  moment  by 
the  causeless  outcries  of  this  pestiferous  busy- 
body. Father  Linnaeus  knew  what  he  was  about 
when  he  dubbed  it  vociferiis. 

Nest  or  no  nest,  in  season  or  out  of  season,  it 

12 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

catches  sight  of  you  from  afar ;  and  up  goes  its 
voice,  sharp  as  a  razor  and  loud  enough  to  rouse 
the  neighborhood.  Now  here,  now  there,  it  runs, 
flies,  and  stands  still  by  turns,  screaming  more 
and  more  wildly,  till  its  voice  literally  breaks  into 
shivers  ;  and,  although  you  know  better,  you  be- 
gin to  think  that  for  once  the  creature  must  be 
in  some  real  trouble.  Such  agonizing,  broken- 
hearted shrieks  cannot  be  all  a  make-believe. 

And  then  of  a  sudden  silence  falls  upon  the 
scene.  Nothing  has  happened  ;  all  things  remain 
as  they  were ;  but  for  this  time  the  play  is  played 
out. 

There  is  no  bird  of  my  acquaintance  for  which 
I  entertain  so  hearty  a  dislike.  "Animosity,"  I 
was  on  the  point  of  writing,  but  that  seems  an 
undignified  expression  as  between  a  man  and  a 
plover.  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  the  species 
exterminated,  but  so  far  as  my  daily  beat  is  con- 
cerned I  would  cheerfully  see  its  numbers  dimin- 
ished by  nine  out  of  ten. 

Yet  I  remember  the  time  in  my  Eastern  days 
when  the  sight  of  a  killdeer  was  cause  for  loud 
rejoicing,  and  its  harshest  cry  a  kind  of  music. 
Then  it  was  a  novelty ;  once  in  many  years  by 
some  accident  it  came  in  my  way ;  and  rarity  will 
always  insure  a  welcome,  or,  at  the  worst,  tolera- 
tion. There  is  here  and  there  a  man  (I  can  im- 
13 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

agine  such  a  thing,  at  any  rate)  who  does  well 
enough  for  an  hour  now  and  then,  say  once  or 
twice  a  year,  but  who  would  speedily  become 
unendurable  as  a  daily  intruder. 

The  killdeer,  withal,  is  a  fine,  handsome  fellow 
to  look  at,  well  set  up,  as  we  say  (and  how  well 
he  knows  it  !),  with  his  bright  complexion,  his 
unrivaled  twin  breast-bands,  and  his  highly  orna- 
mental tricolored  tail,  of  which  brilliant  append- 
age, by  the  way,  he  makes  so  splendid  a  use  in 
courtship-time  ;  and,  if  he  possessed  the  very 
smallest  gift  of  silence,  or  knew  enough  to  make 
himself  once  in  a  while  scarce,  I  should  never 
think  of  grudging  him  his  multitudinous  exist- 
ence. As  it  is,  he  is  one  of  God's  creatures  for 
which  I  have  lost  pretty  much  all  relish.  At  cer- 
tain times  of  the  year  hardly  a  day  passes  in 
which  his  ill-timed  vociferations  do  not  wear  my 
patience  threadbare. 

Both  the  snowy  plover  and  the  killdeer  are  to 
be  found  not  only  along  the  beach  but  in  the 
"  Estero,"  so  called,  a  ditch  and  tide-pool  region, 
some  acres  in  extent,  on  the  landward  side  of 
the  railway.  This  eyesore  of  a  place,  as  the  ordi- 
nary citizen  would  describe  it,  and  properly 
enough  from  his  point  of  view,  sterile  (in  Spanish 
esteril),  homely,  unclean,  and  at  low  tide  not 
precisely  sweet-smelling,  is  a  famous  rendezvous 
14 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

for  many  species  of  water-birds,  and  by  conse- 
quence a  favorite  resort  for  the  local  ornitholo- 
gist. 

Distant  be  the  day,  say  I,  when  the  city  fathers 
shall  take  it  into  their  thrifty  heads  to'improve 
it  out  of  existence,  to  make  room  for  another 
park,  it  may  be,  or  an  additional  "  residence  dis- 
trict." It  is  something  better  than  a  residence 
district  already;  a  first-class  caravansery,  well 
patronized  year  after  year  by  bands  of  distin- 
guished travelers  on  their  way  northward  or 
southward  as  the  seasons  shift. 

They  keep  it  in  mind,  it  would  appear,  as  a 
convenient  spot  in  which  to  break  their  long 
journey;  for  even  the  stoutest  pair  of  wings  may 
without  shame  welcome  a  breathing-space  here 
and  there  between  the  neighborhood  of  the  North 
Pole  and  the  southern  parts  of  South  America. 
It  suits  their  purpose  the  better  that  it  lies 
within  the  city  Hmits,  and  except  by  stealth  is 
not  invaded  by  shotguns.  Ducks  of  many  sorts 
swim  here  in  safety  by  the  month  together.  If 
ill-mannered  dogs  find  it  amusing  to  pester  them, 
as  too  often  happens,  they  have  only  to  circle 
about  on  the  wing  for  a  minute  or  two  and  come 
down  again  in  a  different  pool  or  ditch,  behind 
another  curtain  of  reeds. 

They  have   no  minds,  of  course,  or  none  to 
15 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

speak  of;  great  scholars  have  set  our  minds  at 
rest  upon  that  point,  but  by  hook  or  by  crook  they 
manage  to  pick  up  a  bit  of  information  here  and 
there,  which  is  better  than  nothing  ;  and  by  some 
means  or  other  —  by  experience,  perhaps,  or  pos- 
sibly by  hearsay,  who  knows  ?  —  they  seem  to 
have  ascertained  that  this  is  a  safe  port ;  and, 
the  living  being  good,  likewise,  here  they  remain, 
greatly  to  my  satisfaction.  This  is  in  the  wintry 
or  non-breeding  season.  None  of  them  nest  here, 
to  the  best  of  my  knowledge. 

Summer  or  winter,  autumn  or  spring,  there  is 
always  something  stirring  on  the  beach  or  in  the 
Estero.  Among  shore-birds,  especially,  the  semi- 
annual migratory  movements  pretty  nearly  over- 
lap each  other.  This  season,  for  instance  (191 1), 
only  seventeen  days  elapsed  between  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  last  north-bound  flyers  —  a  few 
northern  phalaropes,  as  it  happened  —  and  the 
advent,  on  the  5th  of  July,  of  the  first  autumnal 
south-bound  travelers,  a  small  flock  of  least  sand- 
pipers. 

And  by  way  of  illustrating  the  same  point  I 
may  cite  the  case  of  the  sanderlings  as  observed 
during  the  past  year.  Sanderlings,  it  should  be 
understood,  are  natives  of  the  extreme  north, 
their  breeding-range,  as  given  by  the  latest  au- 
thority, being  *'  from  Melville  Island,  Ellesmere 
16 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

Land,  and  northern  Greenland  to  Point  Barrow, 
Alaska,  northern  Mackenzie,  Iceland,  and  north- 
ern Siberia."  A  long  flight,  at  the  nearest,  from 
southern  California.  Yet  during  the  past  year  I 
have  noted  them  on  our  Santa  Barbara  beach  in 
every  month  except  June !  And  even  that  month 
was  missed  by  a  matter  of  only  four  days,  since 
a  few  birds  were  observed  as  late  as  May  28. 

So  many  stragglers  are  there  tagging  in  the 
rear  of  the  main  army,  and  so  surprisingly  brief 
is  the  time  that  these  natives  of  arctic  and  sub- 
arctic regions  tarry  in  what  is  to  them  the  home 
country.  Why  they  should  continue  to  travel  so 
far  to  make  so  short  a  stay  is  a  question  which 
they  may  answer  who  can. 

A  long  way  from  Santa  Barbara,  I  said.  But 
that  is  the  smallest  part  of  the  story ;  for  the 
sanderlings  that  winter  in  southern  California 
are  the  merest  handful,  a  few  hundreds  or  thou- 
sands out  of  millions  ;  the  overwhelming  ma- 
jority of  the  host  go  much  farther  south,  some 
of  the  more  adventurous  as  far  as  Patagonia  ;  a 
semiannual  hegira  for  these  diminutive  creatures, 
but  a  few  ounces  in  weight,  sufficient  to  stagger 
the  imagination  if  we  were  not  so  heedless  of 
such  things  or  so  accustomed  to  the  thought  of 
them. 

But  then,  we  ought  to  have  discovered  before 
17 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

this  that  neither  power  nor  spirit  is  according 
to  size,  a  consideration  as  true  of  birds  as  of 
other  people.  Witness  an  extreme  case,  the  case 
of  a  hummingbird,  a  mite  of  flesh  no  bigger 
than  a  lady's  thumb.  Hatched  in  Alaska,  this 
enterprising  atom  will  find  its  way  to  southern 
Mexico  and  back  again  to  its  birthplace  before 
it  is  a  year  out  of  the  shell.  Man  is  a  wonder, 
especially  to  himself;  he  is  even  beginning  to 
fly,  —  and  incidentally  breaking  his  neck  in  the 
process.  But  let  him  look  abroad  ;  and,  great  as 
he  is,  he  may  see  cause  to  be  modest  in  his 
boasting. 

Why  do  the  sanderlings  travel  so  needlessly 
far.-*  we  asked.  And  can  anyone  tell  us  why 
small,  frail-looking,  weak-seeming  bodies  like 
the  titlarks,  after  a  winter  of  content  on  our 
Santa  Barbara  beach,  betake  themselves,  as  sure 
as  the  spring  comes  round,  to  some  barren,  hur- 
ricane-swept, almost  uninhabitable  mountain-top, 
a  thousand  miles  away  ?  With  a  pair  of  wings, 
albeit  not  of  the  strongest,  and  the  wide  world  to 
choose  from,  why  should  they  settle  upon  this 
most  forbidding  and  uncomfortable  of  all  possi- 
ble dwelling-places  ? 

As  I  watched  them,  or  endeavored  to  watch 
them  (for  neither  they  nor  I  could  stand  still 
enough  really  to  see  each  other),  on  the  summit 
i8 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

of  Pike's  Peak,  every  one  crouching  behind  its 
boulder,  over  the  top  of  which  it  now  and  then 
peeped  at  the  solitary  and  unexpected  human 
intruder,  as  there  came  a  momentary  lull  in  the 
gale,  I  marveled  at  their  temerity  in  attempting 
to  live  and  bring  up  their  nestlings  under  such 
distressing  conditions. 

At  the  same  time  I  amused  myself  by  fancy- 
ing that  I  detected  a  possible  explanation  of  their 
uneasy  caudal  habit.  In  such  a  wind,  continuous 
for  the  most  part  day  after  day,  no  bird  could  be 
expected  to  hold  its  tail  still.  It  must  be  forever 
on  the  tilt,  like  a  rope-walker's  balance-pole. 
And  an  action  of  this  kind,  early  acquired,  might, 
I  thought,  easily  develop  into  a  chronic  nervous 
habit  —  a  tic,  to  borrow  a  pathological  term  — 
never  to  be  got  rid  of. 

That  was  fancy,  and  may  be  allowed  to  pass. 
But  the  question  why  such  a  bird  should  be  con- 
tented to  live  in  such  a  place,  and  in  no  other, 
remains  a  fair  one.  Every  kind  of  country,  you 
may  say,  must  have  its  own  kinds  of  birds ;  mat- 
ters are  so  ordained ;  and  so  the  naked  summits 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains  have  their  rosy  finches 
and  their  titlarks.  I  am  glad  they  have  them, 
but  such  a  reply  is  pure  assumption,  and  rather 
begs  the  question  than  answers  it. 

For  myself,  I  attempt  no  answer,  though  I 
19 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

am  moved  to  suggest  that  a  bird  is  something 
like  a  man,  say  what  you  will  about  our  assumed 
human  supremacy ;  and  it  is  conceivable  that  a 
bird  may  sing  as  fervently  as  any  Scotchman  or 
Switzer,  "  My  heart 's  in  the  Highlands." 

I  myself  am  neither  Scotch  nor  Swiss ;  I 
never  saw  so  much  as  a  distant  mountain  till  I 
was  a  man  grown  ;  but  if  I  could  have  my  will, 
not  a  year  should  pass  without  my  knowing  at 
least  once  the  exhilaration  (there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  just  like  it)  of  standing  under  the  sky 
in  some  high  place,  the  higher  and  more  lonesome, 
the  better.  I  remember  days,  a  beggarly  few, 
alas  !  on  mountain-tops  East  and  West.  And 
among  the  brightest  of  such  memories  is  that  of 
my  few  hours  on  Pike's  Peak,  when  these  flut- 
tering, storm-tossed  titlarks,  twittering  on  the 
edges  of  snowbanks,  were  my  sole  but  sufficient 
company. 

And  if  a  born  lowlander  delights  to  spend  a 
few  hours  now  and  then  at  such  altitudes,  why 
is  it  to  be  deemed  altogether  surprising  that 
creatures  to  the  manner  born,  brave  and  self- 
reliant  souls,  needing  neither  highway  nor  trail, 
accustomed  from  the  shell  to  live  in  the  "  un- 
tented  cosmos"  and  "travel  the  uncharted," 
should  find  themselves  drawn  as  by  an  irresisti- 
ble attraction  to  spend  the  summer  there?  It 

20 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

heartens  me  to  think  of  them  thus  holding  true 
to  the  home-land  year  after  year,  let  the  wind 
howl  about  them  as  it  will.  And  because  I  once 
saw  them  there  I  see  them  with  the  more  pleas- 
ure, and  the  more  respect,  as  they  flit  before  me 
all  the  sunny  winter  long  on  our  Santa  Barbara 
beach. 

Three  quarters  of  the  time  at  sea-level,  and 
the  remammg  quarter  two  or  three  miles  above 
It,  so   unevenly  do  they  divide  the  year  •  but 
measured  by  what  is  done  and  enjoyed,  the  one 
quarter  may  well  count  for  more  than  the  other 
three.  And  if  they  are  ever  touched  with  home- 
sickness, I  believe  it  is  on  our  zephyr-kissed 
southern  beaches  and  golf-links  rather  than  on 
those  tempestuous  northern  mountain-tops.  It  is 
good  to  think  that  for  them  as  for  us  there  are 
joys  that  count  for  more  than  comfort. 

It  has  been  noticed  that  a  man  who  courts 
solitude  is  apt  to  be  more  than  commonly  fond 
of  animal  society.  He  may  have  carried  his  pe- 
cuhanty  so  far  as  to  build  a  hermitage  in  the 
wilderness  for  the  purpose  of  living  apart  from 
his  fellows,  but  he  can  never  have  too  much  of 
the  company  of  rabbits  and  squirrels.  Rats  and 
mice  even  are  welcome  ;  and  if  a  partridge  leads 
her  brood  past  his  door,  he  is  happy  in  the  recol- 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

lection  of  the  event  for  a  week  afterwards,  and 
will  give  it  a  paragraph  later  in  his  book,  if  he 
writes  one. 

In  short,  the  hermit  has  no  objection  to  neigh- 
bors ;  only  they  must  be  of  an  unobtrusive  sort, 
such  as  put  him  under  no  social  obligations, 
and  disturb  neither  his  idleness,  one  of  the 
most  valuable  parts  of  his  estate,  nor  his  employ- 
ment. 

The  chipmunk  does  not  vex  him  with  criti- 
cisms or  empty  talk,  and  the  sparrow  never  wishes 
to  know  why  he  does  n't  go  back  to  the  town 
and  live  like  other  people ;  and  if  he  keeps  on 
reading  or  writing,  or  hoeing  his  beans,  the  par- 
tridge will  never  dream  of  taking  offense.  For  a 
man  of  his  temperament,  you  perceive,  he  has 
contrived  to  secure  some  of  the  chief  advantages 
of  both  society  and  solitude. 

A  saunterer  upon  the  Santa  Barbara  beach 
has  not  retired  from  the  world.  He  is  seldom 
out  of  the  sight  of  human  beings.  They  are  con- 
tinually passing  to  and  fro,  more  or  less  noisily, 
behind  his  back.  But  at  the  same  time  he  is  little 
in  danger  of  missing  a  wholesome  proportion  of 
solitude.  He  may  talk  aloud,  or  break  into  song, 
and  neither  disturb  others  nor  be  himself  dis- 
turbed. Even  if  he  carries  a  field-glass,  nobody  is 
likely  to  ask  him  what  he  is  looking  at,  or  (about 

22 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

the  commonest  of  questions),  how  far  he  can  see 
with  it. 

And  naturally  in  such  circumstances  he  is 
much  alive  to  the  fellowship  of  beach-haunting 
birds.  Their  affairs  interest  and  amuse  him.  He 
sympathizes  with  them.  As  Keats  expressed  it 
so  felicitously  in  one  of  his  letters,  he  '*  takes 
part  in  their  existence."  If  their  attention  is 
mainly  given  to  matters  gastronomic,  he  does 
not  mind,  nor  think  the  worse  of  them.  He  can- 
not sit  at  their  table,  but  he  looks  on  with  pleas- 
ure, happy  in  their  happiness.  If  they  take  no 
thought  for  raiment,  and  have  neither  store- 
house nor  barn,  it  is  by  no  fault  of  theirs.  They 
are  probably  better  dressed  than  he  is,  more 
comfortably  and  in  a  thousand  times  better  taste. 
Let  them  eat  and  be  merry. 

Here,  for  instance,  is  a  flock  of  sanderlings, 
a  score,  perhaps,  or,  not  unlikely,  a  hundred.  The 
tide  is  falling ;  they  have  had  a  long  rest,  sitting 
in  a  close  bunch  on  the  dry  sand  while  the  beach 
has  been  flooded  ;  and  now  see  how  busy  they 
are !  Every  time  a  wave  recedes,  down  they  run 
in  its  wake  to  seize  any  bit  of  edible  life  that  it 
may  have  left  behind.  Till  the  last  moment  they 
stay,  pecking  hastily  right  and  left  in  the  suds, 
not  to  lose  a  morsel;  and  then,  as  the  next 
breaker  comes  rolling  in,  back  they  scamper  up 
23 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

the  beach  as  fast  as  their  legs  will  bear  them. 
If  they  get  their  toes  wet,  it  is  no  killing  mat- 
ter ;  but  they  keep  a  sharp  lookout  against  any- 
thing worse  than  that.  The  most  timorous  of 
screaming  human  surf-bathers  could  not  be  more 
insistent  upon  that  score. 

If  you  do  not  enjoy  this  animated  scene,  then 
it  is  hard  to  think  what  you  are  made  of.  All 
their  movements  are  so  quick,  so  eager,  and  so 
graceful !  And  the  birds  themselves  are  so 
pretty,  snowy  white,  with  black,  or  black  and 
brown,  markings. 

But  they  are  even  more  engaging  if  you  catch 
them  at  their  bath.  This  they  sometimes  take  in 
the  uppermost  reaches  of  the  surf,  a  hurried 
and  none  too  comfortable  operation,  as  it  looks, 
since  they  must  retreat  every  time  another  wave 
comes  in.  They  much  prefer,  I  think,  the  edges 
of  some  still  tide-pool,  where  they  can  dip  and 
splash  at  their  leisure. 

About  the  bathing  itself,  as  far  as  I  have  ob- 
served, there  is  nothing  peculiar ;  but  after  it  I 
once  saw  them  practising  what  was  to  me  a  trick 
as  novel  as  it  was  pleasing.  Standing  on  the 
sand,  they  sprang  straight  into  the  air  again  and 
again  to  a  height  of  six  or  eight  inches,  shaking 
themselves  vigorously  while  so  doing,  evidently 
for  the  purpose  of  drying  their  feathers.  At  the 
24 
l»«OPERTY  OF 

jeAM-OOUEaE  UBRABY. 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

first  instant  I  thought  they  might  be  catching 
low-flying  insects  such  as  swarm  here  and  there 
about  patches  of  seaweed  or  on  the  edge  of 
shallow  still  water.  "Bravo!"  said  I,  when  I 
discovered  my  mistake ;  "  you  have  shown  me 
something  new." 

On  the  same  occasion  I  noticed,  what  I  had 
often  noticed  before,  their  strong  propensity  for 
standing  and  running  (hopping,  I  ought  to  say, 
I  suppose,  lest  some  youthful  critic,  shocked  at 
my  ignorance,  should  esteem  it  his  duty  to  set 
me  right)  on  one  leg.  Sometimes  half  the  flock 
will  be  thus  engaged.  And  the  wonder  is  that 
they  get  over  the  ground  almost  or  quite  as 
quickly  on  one  leg  as  on  two.  At  any  rate,  they 
keep  up  with  the  procession,  —  which  is  the 
principal  aim  of  most  of  us, — no  matter  how 
fast  it  is  moving. 

Just  why  sanderlings,  or  any  other  birds, 
should  habitually  balance  themselves  thus  in 
sleep  or  when  at  rest,  is  more  than  I  have  ever 
seen  explained  or  been  able  myself  to  divine.  A 
swan,  say,  with  its  big  body  and  long  neck,  or  a 
tall  heron,  born  to  go  on  stilts,  or  a  caged  canary 
—  how  have  they  come  to  find  this  unnatural- 
looking,  awkward-looking,  difficult-looking,  Sim- 
eon-Stylites-like  attitude  the  acme  of  comfort  > 

Fancy  yourself  trying  it  to-night  instead  of 
25 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

getting  between  the  sheets.  What  long  hours 
of  peaceful  slumber  you  would  enjoy  !  Sleeping  or 
waking,  even  if  you  are  a  trained  athlete,  I  would 
not  give  you  any  great  length  of  time  in  which 
to  maintain  the  attitude,  to  say  nothing  of  find- 
ing it  conducive  to  repose. 

As  for  running  on  one  leg,  that,  so  far  as  I 
know,  is  a  trick  peculiar  to  sanderlings.  As  well 
as  I  can  recall,  I  have  never  found  any  other 
kind  of  bird  attempting  it ;  except  of  course,  dis- 
abled individuals,  which  show  plainly  enough  by 
their  awkwardness  that  their  one-legged  perform- 
ances, such  as  they  are,  are  matters  of  painful 
necessity. 

Whether  sanderlings  have  the  happiness  to 
feel  a  comfortable  touch  of  pride  in  this  singu- 
larity of  theirs  is  a  question  to  be  left  for  such 
as  possess  a  better,  more  instinctive,  knowledge 
than  I  am  favored  with  as  to  what  goes  on  inside 
of  fur  and  feathers. 

Sanderlings  as  a  rule  feed  on  the  beach  and 
nowhere  else ;  but  I  once  knew  a  small  flock  to 
remain  for  a  week  or  two  in  a  certain  part  of  the 
Estero.  "  Those  crazy  sanderlings "  an  orni- 
thological friend  of  mine  called  them,  seeing 
them  so  persistently  out  of  their  natural  sur- 
roundings. For  myself,  I  found  it  difficult  at  first 
to  feel  sure  that  they  were  sanderlings.  For  aught 
26 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

I  can  say,  they  may  have  been  "bolters,"  re- 
solved upon  saving  the  sanderling  nation  (one  of 
Gilbert  White's  words)  by  hatching  a  new  party. 
Other  small  birds,  semipalmated  plovers,  for 
example,    while    displaying    a    preference    for 
muddy  flats,  still  frequent  the  beach  with  a  good 
degree  of  regularity.  This  very  morning  a  flock 
of  four  ran  before  me  down  the  sands  for  a  mile, 
more  or  less,  keeping  about  so  far  in  advance,' 
—  twelve   or   fifteen   yards,  —  and    picking  up 
their  breakfast   as  they  went,  the  beach  being 
alive  with  sandhoppers.   On  my  return,  an  hour 
later,  I  overtook  them  again;  but  now  they  had 
been  joined  by  three  least  sandpipers,  and  within 
five  or  ten  minutes,  while  I  was  still  watching 
them,  two  stray  sanderlings  attached  themselves 
to  the  group,  the  whole  nine  being  sometimes 
within  a  circle  of  a  yard  in  diameter. 
^  It  seems  to  be  characteristic  of  such  diminu- 
tive travelers,  if  they  become  separated  from 
their  natural  companions,  to  associate  themselves 
with  any  little  group  of  other  species  on  which 
they  may  happen  to  stumble.  Strange  company 
is  better  than  none,  they  think,  as  most  of  us 
must  have  thought  before  now  on  a  long  journey. 
The  nucleus  of  this  particular  flock  was  the  four 
plovers.  To  my  knowledge  they  had  been  on  the 
beach  quite  by  themselves  for  an  hour  or  more. 
27 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Then  the  three  sandpipers  joined  them,  and 
finally  the  two  lonesome  sanderlings  descried 
the  group,  and  said,  "Come  on!  Here's  our 
chance." 

By  an  unusual  stroke  of  luck  I  had  actually 
seen  the  company  formed.  At  my  last  sight  of 
them  they  were  flying  down  the  beach  together, 
as  if  they  had  been  hatched  in  the  same  nest. 

A  very  different  bird,  whose  feeding-habits 
I  have  often  enjoyed  overseeing,  is  the  white- 
winged  scoter,  a  black  duck  marked  by  a  sightly 
white  patch  on  its  wing.  Flocks  varying  in  num- 
ber from  half  a  dozen  to  twenty  or  thirty  are 
always  present,  summer  and  winter  alike,  and, 
while  more  generally  seen  swimming  a  short  dis- 
tance out,  between  the  breakers  and  the  kelp, 
they  seem  to  get  much  the  larger  share  of  their 
living  in  the  shallow  surf  inside  the  last  breaker. 

There  they  may  be  seen  daily,  bumping  about 
on  the  sand,  very  ungraceful,  but  very  busy,  and 
by  the  appearance  of  things  very  successful. 
Their  diet  is  mostly  crustacean.  As  each  wave 
comes  in  and  breaks,  they  waddle  with  all  speed 
into  its  frothy  shallow,  dabbing  hurriedly  right 
and  left,  nose  under  water,  not  minding  in  the 
least  if  the  next  billow  tosses  them  ashore  again 
(in  fact,  this  is  much  their  easiest  way  of  getting 
there);  and  pretty  often,  often  enough,  at  all 
28 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

events,  to  keep  them  in  good  heart  and  flesh,  the 
wave  brings  them  the  tidbit  they  are  seeking. 
The  tidbit,  I  say,  but  frequently  the  wriggling 
captive  —  crab,  shrimp,  or  what-not  —  looks  a 
rather  unwieldy  mouthful  as,  with  more  or  less 
of  spasmodic  tossings  of  the  head,  they  finally 
worry  it  down. 

If  a  horseman  happens  along,  they  tumble 
hastily  into  the  surf,  and  swim  a  little  way  out, 
diving  through  the  higher  breakers  and  riding 
the  lesser  ones,  only  to  return  and  resume  their 
meal  as  soon  as  the  coast  is  clear  again.  I  sus- 
pect that  they  fish  mostly  at  a  certain  stage  of 
the  tide,  but  as  to  that  I  have  made  no  conclus- 
ive observations. 

Another  duck,  also  common  here,  wears  the 
name  of  surf  scoter,  but  I  cannot  perceive  that 
the  designation  fits  him  better  than  his  white- 
marked  relative. 

It  must  be  a  very  foolish  or  ill-brought-up  bird, 
however,  that  has  only  one  string  to  his  bow. 
The  scoter  has  at  least  two,  for  besides  this  rak- 
ing of  the  surf  he  is  proficient  at  diving  in  deep 
water.  I  have  watched  him  at  it  many  a  time, 
leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  pier  for  that  pur- 
pose, directly  above  his  head.  Then  he  is  any- 
thing but  ungraceful.  With  a  sudden  tip  forward 
and  a  few  vigorous  strokes  of  his  legs,  down  he 
29 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

goes  out  of  sight,  and  stays  there  for  a  longer  or 
shorter  period  (I  have  sometimes  held  the  watch 
on  him)  according  to  the  water's  depth. 

How  often  this  deep-sea  dredging,  as  we  may 
style  it,  is  rewarded  I  cannot  say,  but  I  have  no 
recollection  of  ever  having  seen  him  bring  any- 
thing to  the  surface.  I  suspect  that  the  breaker's 
edge  is  by  much  his  most  remunerative  field. 
There  I  have  seen  him  when  he  seemed  in  danger 
of  acute  indigestion,  his  luck  was  so  good,  and 
his  greediness  so  uncontrolled. 

While  swimming  alongside  the  pier  he  is  some- 
times absolutely  heedless  of  passers  overhead.  I 
have  repeatedly  seen  boys  —  and  men,  also  — 
stone  him  ;  and  even  when  the  missile  strikes  the 
water  within  a  yard,  the  silly  bird  disdains  either 
to  dive  or  fly,  but  paddles  slowly  away  while  the 
boy  laughs  and  continues  to  pelt  him  till  he  gets 
out  of  range. 

His  manner  at  such  times  is  the  very  perfec- 
tion of  stolid  indifference.  "Oh,  go  on,"  he  might 
be  saying.  **  You  could  n't  hit  the  side  of  a  house." 
And  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  never  have  seen  him 
actually  struck. 

One  incident  I  particularly  remember.  A  young 
fellow  who  might  have  been  a  professional  base- 
ball player,  from  the  accuracy  of  his  aim  and  the 
strength  of  his  arm,  threw  a  large  stone,  which 
30 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

splashed  into  the  water  within  a  foot  of  the  duck, 
almost  under  him,  in  fact.  The  man  and  his  com- 
panions were  noisily  amused,  but  the  bird  contin- 
ued on  his  moderate  course  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  The  big  stone  might  have  been  a 
raindrop  for  all  the  effect  it  produced.  If  the 
creature  had  been  human,  I  should  have  set  him 
down  for  a  fool. 

And  it  is  well  within  the  possibilities,  I  sup- 
pose, that  there  are  idiotic  and  crazy  individuals 
among  birds  as  well  as  among  men ;  birds,  for 
example,  that  fly  by  the  hour,  day  after  day, 
against  windows,  as  I  have  known  an  occasional 
robin  and  English  sparrow  to  do,  and  will  not  be 
driven  off,  and  this  absurd,  unfrightenable  coot. 
And  if  this  is  true,  we  are  perhaps  as  far  astray 
in  judging  of  the  mental  capacity  of  birds  in  gen- 
eral from  such  examples  as  we  should  be  to  esti- 
mate the  intellectual  faculties  of  the  German  or 
any  other  race  by  what  we  see  in  their  asylums 
for  the  insane  and  feeble-minded. 

Even  in  forming  an  opinion  concerning  so  in- 
nocent a  subject  as  the  intelligence  of  birds  and 
such  like  humble  people,  it  becomes  us  to  exer- 
cise a  proper  degree  of  modesty,  and  even  (why 
not.?)  of  Christian  charity;  the  more  as  we  are 
ignorant  of  their  language  (which  accordingly, 
in  our  humanly  arrogant  mood,  we  brand  as  in- 
31 


FIELD-DAYS  IN   CALIFORNIA 

articulate),  and  know  nothing  of  what  evidence 
or  explanation  they  might  be  able  to  adduce  in 
contravention  of  our  disparaging  verdict.  Of  all 
things,  being  what  we  are,  let  us  beware  of  in- 
fallibility. It  is  one  of  the  most  insidious  of 
vices,  as  it  is,  also,  one  of  the  most  ill-favored. 
It  makes  its  home  within  us  all  unsuspected,  so 
very  cautious  we  esteem  ourselves,  the  last  per- 
sons in  the  world  to  be  guilty  of  anything  like 
presumption  or  dogmatism ;  and  then,  before  we 
know  it,  we  are  delivering  guesses  for  certain- 
ties, as  if  we  were  throned  in  the  Pope's  chair 
and  such  a  thing  as  error  were  impossible.  No, 
no ;  for  our  own  sakes,  if  for  nobody  else's,  let 
us  take  a  lower  seat. 

The  two  scoters  are  on  our  beach  throughout 
the  year ;  yet  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
they  nest  within  a  thousand  miles.  In  other 
words,  all  the  hundreds  or  thousands  of  scoters 
that  summer  along  the  California  coast  are  what 
our  official  Check- List  describes  as  "  non-breed- 
ing birds." 

Concerning  this  lagging  or  non-migratory  habit 
of  theirs,  two  questions  suggest  themselves.  In 
the  first  place,  why  should  not  these  barren  indi- 
viduals, as  we  assume  them  to  be,  follow  the 
tribal  instinct  and  go  north  with  their  fellows  in 
32 


A  CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

the  spring,  even  though  they  are  not  to  pair  and 
raise  young  ?  —  a  question  which,  properly  con- 
sidered, might  throw  some  light  on  the  motive  of 
birds  in  general  in  undertaking  their  extremely 
long  and  expensive  spring  journeys.  If  it  is  sim- 
ply a  homing  instinct,  it  is  hard  to  understand 
why  these  scoters  should  not  remain  under  its 
influence  even  after  they  have  passed  the  age  of 
procreation. 

And,  secondly,  it  would  be  highly  interesting 
to  know  why  this  non-migratory,  non-breeding 
habit  should  be  peculiar  to  these  two  kinds  of 
ducks.  It  is  not  unlikely,  of  course,  that  stray 
individuals  of  other  species  may  now  and  then, 
for  one  reason  and  another,  remain  behind  to 
pass  the  summer  south  of  their  natural  breed- 
ing-Hmits ;  but  so  far  as  the  Check-List  shows, 
our  two  scoters  are  the  only  ducks  that  do  this 
with  sufficient  regularity,  or  in  sufficient  num- 
bers, to  make  the  fact  worthy  of  mention. 

Scoters  (or  coots,  as  gunners  call  them)  are 
by  no  means  the  only  birds  that  patrol  our  beach 
in  quest  of  crustacean  dainties.  Flocks  of  Hud- 
sonian  curlews  may  often  be  seen  pursuing  the 
same  game,  though  with  their  different  equip- 
ment they  naturally  follow  a  different  method. 
They  go  about  the  business  as  our  numerous 
fishermen  do  when  in  search  of  bait,  not  looking 
33 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

for  it  on  the  surface  (though  I  have  seen  them 
doing  that  also),  but  probing  for  it.  Down  goes 
their  long,  sickle-shaped  bill  into  the  wet  sand, 
frequently  for  only  a  fraction  of  its  length ;  and 
often  as  not  you  may  see  it  bring  up  a  squirming 
something  that  looks  like  a  shrimp  or  a  prawn. 

This  the  bird  does  not  at  once  swallow,  as  you 
might  have  expected  it  to  do.  Instead,  it  drops 
its  prey  upon  the  sand,  picks  it  up  and  shakes  it, 
drops  it  again,  and  so  on,  the  unfortunate  victim 
all  the  while  struggling  to  get  free,  till  suddenly 
a  final  jerk  and  a  gulp,  and  it  disappears  down 
the  long  bill.  Of  the  precise  reason  for  all  these 
preliminaries  I  am  ignorant.  Possibly  the  crusta- 
cean must  be  held  in  a  certain  position  before  it 
can  be  comfortably  swallowed.  Certainly  it  is  not 
killed  in  the  process,  for  it  wriggles  to  the  last 
moment. 

I  have  known  a  flock  of  fifteen  curlews  to  take 
possession  of  a  certain  short  stretch  of  the  beach, 
with  nothing  but  a  few  rods  of  low  sand-hills 
between  them  and  the  noisy  asphalt  boulevard, 
and  hold  it  for  the  greater  part  of  a  day,  flying 
out  to  sea  for  a  little  distance  when  driven  to  it 
by  too  close  a  passer-by,  and  immediately  return- 
ing. That  was  a  day,  no  doubt,  when  the  fishing 
was  exceptionally  good,  and  they  were  in  the 
condition  of  a  boy  I  once  knew,  who  could  not 
34 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

go  home  to  dinner  when  the  pickerel  were  biting 
among  the  hly-pads  over  at  Reuben  Loud's  mill- 
pond. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  within  the 
same  week  a  flock  of  eighty  curlews  on  a  lone- 
some stretch  of  beach  beyond  the  city  limits  -~ 
and  the  city's  protection  —  that  would  not  allow 
me  to  approach  within  two  or  three  gunshots. 

The  difference  in  numbers  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  difference  in  behavior. 
Fear  is  contagious,  as  we  all  know.  The  larger 
the  crowd,  the  quicker  and  crazier  the  panic. 
The  more  heads,  the  more  speedily  their  owners 
lose  them.  Or  it  may  well  enough  be  that  the 
second  flock  were  shyer  than  the  first  because 
they  had  recently  been  molested  by  gunners.  To 
be  shot  at  once  or  twice  from  behind  a  hedge 
would  have  a  tendency,  I  should  think,  to  breed 
caution  in  the  dullest  minds. 

Whatever  its  cause,  such  increase  of  suspi- 
ciousness,  though  it  may  annoy  us  for  the  mo- 
ment, is  on  the  whole  a  thing  to  be  thankful  for. 
It  is  a  healthy  symptom.  The  birds  will  live  the 
longer  for  it,  and  there  will  be  all  the  more  feed- 
ers along  the  beach. 

I  speak  of  Hudsonian  curlews.    In  all  likeli- 
hood the  habits  of  the  larger  sickle-billed  species 
are  similar ;  but  birds  of  that  kind  are  anything 
35 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

but  common  on  our  beach,  and  though  I  have 
now  and  then  seen  them,  I  have  no  knowledge 
of  my  own  touching  their  table  manners. 

And  the  same  must  be  said  of  the  godwits.  I 
have  watched  them  sinking  their  prodigiously 
long  bills  for  their  full  length  into  the  sand,  but 
have  never  seen  what  sort  of  comestibles  they 
bring  up.  They  visit  us  oftener  than  the  sickle- 
bills,  but  in  nothing  like  the  numbers  of  the 
Hudsonian  curlews. 

It  is  not  many  years  since  we  had  on  both  our 
coasts  a  third  species  of  curlew,  the  Eskimo,  so 
called,  or  the  dough -bird.  Wonderfully  fat  we 
are  told  the  birds  were,  so  that  they  would  burst 
open  when  they  fell ;  greatly  esteemed  for  the 
table,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and,  equally  of  course, 
much  sought  after  by  pot-hunters.  Now  they  are 
all  dead.  The  sharpest-eyed  of  us  will  never  see 
another.  Possibly  the  Hudsonians  have  heard  of 
their  smaller  brethren's  fate  (though  I  don't  really 
consider  this  so  very  likely),  and  have  taken  the 
lesson  to  heart.  May  their  shyness  double  itself, 
say  I.  If  it  does,  we  have  only  to  buy  stronger 
field-glasses.  And  the  game  will  be  worth  it. 

Both  species  of  North  American  turnstones, 
the  ruddy  and  the  black,  may  be  found  hunting 
up  and  down  the  beach  in  the  course  of  their  too 
infrequent  semiannual  visits,  and  a  pleasing  show 

36 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

they  make  of  it.  I  was  highly  favored  only  the 
other  day  by  a  flock  of  four  blacks,  birds  which 
summer  in  the  far  north,  and  in  September 
wend  their  way  southward. 

As  soon  as  I  discovered  them,  at  pretty  long 
range,  I  set  about  a  more  or  less  cautious  ap"^ 
proach,  somewhat  hasty  at  first,  but  at  a  slack- 
ened pace  as  I  drew  nearer,  till  at  last  I  barely 
moved.  They  paid  no  heed,  and  presently  I  per- 
ceived that  I  had  no  occasion  to  go  farther,  as 
they  were  traveling  in  my  direction.  I  stood 
stock-still,  therefore,  and  soon  they  had  come  as 
near  as  I  could  have  desired. 

They  were  feeding  in  three  ways.  Sometimes 
they  followed  the  receding  breaker,  gleaning 
from  the  surface,  as  it  seemed,  such  edibles  as 
it  had  washed  in.  Mostly,  however,  they  busied 
themselves  upon  the  wet  sand  just  above  the  last 
reach  of  the  falling  tide. 

Once  they  found  a  place  where  the  shrimps  or 
prawns  were  evidently  more  plentiful  than  else- 
where, and  it  was  amusing  to  see  how  eagerly 
they  worked,  each  determined  to  get  its  full  share 
of  the  plunder;  like  children  — as  memory  called 
up  the  picture  —  who,  after  a  forenoon  of  disap- 
pointments, have  come  upon  a  patch  of  thickly 
covered  berry-bushes.  Thrusting  their  short, 
stout  bills  into  the  sand,  they  drew  out  their 
37 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

squirming  prey,  dropped  it  on  the  sand,  picked 
it  up  and  shook  it,  and  dropped  it  again,  till 
finally  they  had  it  in  condition  for  swallowing. 
These  manoeuvres  they  repeated,  all  in  desperate 
competitive  haste,  till  the  beach  within  a  circle 
a  few  feet  in  circumference  was  thickly  dotted 
with  minute  hillocks  of  sand,  such  as  I  should 
never  have  attributed  to  the  work  of  any  bird, 
had  it  not  been  done  before  my  eyes.  Then  the 
supply  seemed  to  be  exhausted,  and  —  like  the 
huckleberry-pickers  —  they  moved  on  in  search 
of  another  bonanza. 

At  other  times  they  resorted  to  patches  of  sea- 
weed lying  here  and  there  a  little  higher  on  the 
beach,  turning  them  bottom  side  up,  or  brushing 
them  aside,  to  feast  on  such  small  game  as  had 
taken  shelter  underneath.  Their  action  here  was 
like  that  of  a  dog  when  he  buries  a  bone  by 
pushing  the  earth  over  it  with  his  nose.  They 
lowered  their  heads,  and  with  more  or  less  effort 
according  to  circumstances  accomplished  their 
purpose. 

If  the  obstacle  proved  too  heavy  to  be  moved 
in  this  manner,  they  drew  back  a  little  and  made 
a  run  at  it,  as  men  do  before  a  jump  or  in  using 
a  battering-ram.  More  than  once  I  saw  them  gain 
the  needed  momentum  by  this  means,  and  much 
I  enjoyed  the  sight  of  their  ingenuity.    If  they 

38 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

were  not  making  use  of  tools,  they  were  coming 
within  an  inch  of  it. 

They  quarreled  now  and  then  over  the  busi- 
ness, and  once  two  of  them  faced  each  other,  bill 
to  bill,  like  game-cocks,  a  most  unusual  proceed- 
ing among  waders,  firing  off  little  fusillades  of 
exclamations  meanwhile.  It  is  hard  for  animals 
of  any  kind,  boys,  dogs,  roosters,  or  what-not,  to 
carry  on  a  fight  in  silence.  The  tongue  must 
have  its  part  in  the  contention.  The  turnstones' 
disagreements  were  of  the  briefest,  however, 
slight  ebullitions  of  temper  rather  than  any  ac- 
tual belligerency. 

Once  one  of  them  squatted  flat  on  the  sand 
for  a  spell,  an  attitude  which  looked  a  thousand 
times  more  restful  than  standing  on  one  leg.  A 
sensible  bird,  I  called  him.  Rather  more  sensi- 
ble, perhaps,  than  a  little  green-backed  crab  that 
just  then,  or  shortly  after,  sidled  under  the  shank 
of  my  boot  for  shelter  when  I  prodded  him  gently 
with  a  stick.  Again  and  again  he  repeated  this 
masterly  stroke  of  strategy,  about  as  clever,  I 
dare  say,  as  many  of  our  human  attempts  at  con- 
cealment are  likely  to  appear  in  the  eyes  of  any 
higher  intelligences  that  may  be  looking  on. 

All  in  all,  the  turnstones  must  have  made  a 
substantial   meal  while  I  watched   them.    But, 
whether  they  did  or  not,  they  gave  me  a  pleasant 
39 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

half-hour.  I  felt  at  its  conclusion  as  a  man  does 
after  a  peculiarly  agreeable  neighborly  call.  My 
spirit  was  refreshed.  Good  luck,  say  I,  to  all 
turnstones.  May  theirs  be  always  a  full  table.  I 
wish  men  did  not  find  it  amusing  to  kill  them ; 
but,  alas  !  men  will  be  men,  and  savagery,  filter- 
ing down  from  long  lines  of  barbarous,  skin-clad 
ancestors,  is  slow  in  dying. 

Our  faithful  Santa  Barbara  fellow  citizen,  the 
great  blue  heron,  may  be  seen  any  day  standing 
motionless,  a  tall,  gaunt,  solitary  figure,  out  on 
the  kelp,  half  a  mile  or  so  from  land ;  but  I  have 
only  once  in  a  long  while  detected  him  on  the 
beach.  There,  knee-deep  in  the  surf,  leaning 
seaward,  he  is  the  very  picture  of  fisherman's 
patience  and  slow  luck.  My  own  patience  has 
never  lasted  long  enough  to  see  him  catch  any- 
thing. 

At  the  opposite  extreme  of  size  are  the  little 
snowy  plovers,  which  often  join  the  sanderlings 
in  their  merry  race  with  the  breakers. 

The  knot,  which  is  known  in  books,  no  doubt 
correctly,  as  peculiarly  a  beach-bird,  I  have 
never  seen  there.  The  two  examples  that  I  have 
had  the  unexpected  fortune  to  find  in  the  Santa 
Barbara  neighborhood,  both  autumnal  beauties 
in  lovely  clear  gray  and  white,  were  feeding  on 
muddy  flats.  One  of  them  (the  first  one),  which  I 
40 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

kept  my  happy  eyes  on  for  an  hour,  was  scientifi- 
cally collected,  I  regret  to  say  (it  was  no  fault  of 
mine),  in  the  same  spot  two  days  later. 

The  season  of  191 1  seems  to  have  been  an  ex- 
ceptionally prolific  one  in  the  knot's  local  calen- 
dar, as,  besides  the  two  which  came  under  my 
notice,  I  have  heard  of  as  many  others.  It  did 
me  good  to  see  them,  rare  as  they  are  on  the 
Pacific  coast.  Very  quiet  and  demure  they 
seemed,  mindless  of  everything  except  their 
daily  bread;  but  creatures  that  journey  on  their 
own  wings— not  in  flocks,  but  singly  — from 
northern  Ellesmere  Land  to  southern  Patagonia 
and  back  again  every  year  must  be  endowed, 
not  only  with  physical  endurance,  but  with  goodly 
measures  of  that  higher  than  physical  quality 
which,  in  people  of  our  own  kind,  we  denominate 
as  courage,  or,  more  expressively,  as  pluck.  Hats 
off  to  them,  say  I. 

Twice  only  in  three  years  I  have  seen  a  single 
Northern  phalarope  playing  the  role  of  beach- 
bird.  Simple  accidents  both  occurrences  must 
have  been,  for  at  the  same  time  hundreds  (and 
one  day  a  full  thousand)  were  swimming  in  the 
shallow  pools  of  the  Estero.  I  say  a  thousand. 
There  could  hardly  have  been  less  than  that. 
More  than  two  hundred  were  counted  in  one 
small  corner,  and  the  total  number  was  conserva- 
41 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

tively  estimated  on  that  basis.  A  busy  spectacle 
they  offered  to  any  one  standing  on  the  railway, 
their  prevailing  white  color  and  their  intense 
activity  rendering  them  conspicuous,  in  spite  of 
their  small  size,  even  to  passengers  in  the  trains. 

Willets  are  moderately  common  with  us  in 
spring  and  fall,  and  should  have  been  mentioned 
earlier,  in  connection  with  the  curlews  and  god- 
wits.  They  are  among  the  best  esteemed  of  our 
seashore  visitors,  but  I  have  learned  nothing  of 
consequence  about  their  feeding-habits. 

And  the  same  must  be  said  concerning  the 
most  unexpected,  and  by  far  the  most  exciting, 
of  all  our  Santa  Barbara  waders. 

In  company  with  three  enthusiastic  and  widely 
experienced  collectors  I  had  gone  to  a  stretch  of 
unfrequented  beach  west  of  the  city,  and  there 
at  the  last  moment,  on  a  few  small  tide-washed 
rocks,  which  had  shown  us  nothing  an  hour  before, 
I  discovered  what  — looking  at  them  as  they  stood 
directly  between  me  and  the  sun,  with  no  color 
discernible — I  carelessly  took  for  five  turnstones. 

The  collectors,  whose  guest  I  was,  were  beck- 
oned to  (as  courtesy  demanded),  and  within  five 
minutes  three  of  the  birds  were  turned  into  speci- 
mens, and  proved  to  be  surf-birds  !  None  of  my 
companions  had  ever  seen  one  before  (a  live  one, 
I  mean) ;  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  even  by  a  man 
42 


A   CALIFORNIA   BEACH 

who  has  never  collected  anything  more  than 
postage-stamps,  or  street-car  transfers,  they  re- 
turned to  the  city  in  high  spirits. 

My  own  feelings  were  naturally  of  a  more  sub- 
dued and  mingled  sort.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  add 
so  fine  a  bird,  one  of  the  very  few  North  Ameri- 
can species  whose  breeding-grounds  are  still  un- 
known, to  my  local  notebook  collection,  which  I 
could  not  have  done  but  for  the  killing ;  and  I 
sympathized  warmly  with  my  companions  in  their 
unexpected  fortune.  (*'I  never  dreamed  that  I 
should  ever  see  one,"  said  the  youngest  of  the 
trio,  half  to  himself,  as  we  drove  homeward;  and 
none  of  them  could  talk  of  much  else.)  But  I 
sympathized  at  the  same  time  with  the  poor 
creatures  at  the  other  end  of  the  gun.  They  had 
fallen  martyrs  to  science,  and  their  death  was 
painless.  Perhaps  they  had  little  to  complain  of. 

But  I  enjoyed  an  interview  with  a  little  flock 
of  their  kind  far  more,  and  came  away  from  it 
with  a  better  taste  in  my  mouth,  a  few  years  ago, 
about  the  rocks  on  the  ocean  shore  at  Pacific 
Grove,  where  the  deadliest  weapon  the  birds  had 
to  face  was  a  too  inquisitive  field-glass. 

There  is  life  yet  in  the  homely  old  saying, 
"Let  the  shoemaker  stick  to  his  last."  A  man 
who  relucts  at  killing  fishes  was  never  born  to 
be  a  bird-collector. 


IN  THE  ESTERO 

MIDSUMMER  is  out  of  comparison  the 
dullest  part  of  the  year  with  a  Santa 
Barbara  bird-lover.  Even  the  linnets  and  the 
meadowlarks  have  fallen  silent  after  nine  or  ten 
months  of  music.  But  the  story  of  a  morning  in 
early  August  will  show  how  agreeable  an  hour 
one  may  now  and  then  spend  about  a  tract  of 
city-bounded  mud-flats  and  tide-pools  even  in  a 
time  of  relative  dearth,  a  time  between  times,  as 
we  may  call  it.  For  an  outdoor  man  who  will 
take  what  he  can  get,  there  is  always  something 
provided. 

As  I  left  the  beach  and  descended  the  low  rail- 
way embankment  to  the  Estero,  some  large  wad- 
ing-bird  (for  a  wading-bird  is  recognizable  as  such 
by  the  cut  of  its  jib  almost  as  readily  when  fly- 
ing as  when  on  its  feet)  was  approaching  at  a 
good  height  from  the  opposite  direction.  It  de- 
scribed a  circle  or  two,  reconnoitring,  and  then 
dropped  into  the  middle  of  a  large  open  pool  so 
shallow  that  the  black  water  barely  covered  its 
toes. 

Once  on  its  legs  it  straightened  itself  up,  fol- 
lowing the  general  habit  of  birds  in  such  a  case, 
44 


IN   THE   ESTERO 

and  again  looked  about.  *'Is  everything  safe 
here  ?  No  enemy  in  sight  ? "  it  might  have  been 
asking.  Assured  upon  that  point,  it  began  dress- 
ing its  feathers  after  its  flight,  which  not  unlikely 
had  been  a  long  one,  while  I,  glass  in  hand,  was 
cautiously  drawing  near  enough  to  name  it ;  the 
caution  consisting  solely  of  extreme  slowness, 
motion  as  near  to  no  motion  as  my  native  human 
awkwardness  could  make  it,  since  the  space  be- 
tween us  was  as  level  as  a  billiard-table,  and 
offered  not  so  much  as  a  blade  of  grass  as  a 
means  of  cover. 

To  my  relief  the  bird  gave  no  sign  of  resent- 
ing my  advances ;  and  a  step  or  two  at  a  time, 
shuffling  along  with  no  unnecessary  lifting  of  the 
feet,  I  presently  came  close  enough  for  my  twelve- 
power  glass  to  make  out  its  points  with  all  need- 
ful distinctness.  A  marbled  godwit  it  proved  to 
be,  a  migrant  that  shows  itself  none  too  often 
here,  though  at  San  Diego,  on  the  bay  shore  in 
winter,  I  have  seen  godwits  and  willets  together 
lining  the  grassy  edge  of  the  flats  for  a  long  dis- 
tance, and  so  densely  massed  that  I  mistook 
them  at  first  for  a  border  of  some  kind  of  herb- 
age. Thousands  there  must  have  been  ;  and  when 
they  rose  at  my  approach,  they  made  something 
like  a  cloud ;  gray  birds  and  brown  birds  so  con- 
trasted in  color  as  to  be  discriminated  beyond 
45 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

risk  of  error,  even  when  too  far  away  for  the 
staring  white  wing-patches  of  the  willets  to  be 
longer  discernible. 

As  a  flock  there  was  no  getting  near  them  ;  I 
proved  the  fact  to  my  dissatisfaction  more  than 
once;  but  sitting  quietly  on  the  same  bay  shore 
I  have  repeatedly  known  a  single  godwit  or  willet 
to  feed  carelessly  past  me  within  the  distance  of 
a  rod  or  two. 

So  much  easier  is  it  to  come  to  close  quarters 
with  a  solitary  bird  than  with  a  numerous  body. 
Some  member  of  any  sizable  flock  is  sure  to  be 
of  a  timid,  panic-stricken  turn  of  mind  (like  the 
fool  who  is  always  ready  to  cry  "  Fire ! "  in  a 
crowded  theatre),  and,  taking  alarm,  is  prompt  to 
communicate  the  same  to  its  fellows.  A  distin- 
guished ornithologist  (Mr.  John  H.  Bowles)  has 
told  me,  for  example,  of  knocking  over  a  solitary 
goose  with  a  stone,  though  in  all  probability  he 
could  not  have  stolen  within  gunshot  of  a  flock 
of  birds  of  the  same  kind.  It  is  the  habit  of  geese, 
he  assures  me,  when  happened  upon  singly,  to 
act  in  this  idiotic,  incomprehensible  manner,  as 
if  their  intelligence,  and  even  their  inherited 
common  sense,  sometimes  called  instinct,  were 
purely  a  collective  affair. 

I  myself,  on  the  Santa  Barbara  beach,  have 
more  than  once  found  a  single  goose  not  quite 

46 


IN   THE   ESTERO 

so  much  of  a  goose,  perhaps,  as  Mr.  Bowles's  de- 
scription would  indicate,  but  readily  approachable 
on  the  bare  sand  within  a  very  few  rods.  One  of 
our  baseball  pitchers,  I  am  sure,  would  have 
bowled  him  over  in  a  twinkling,  and  made  no- 
thing of  it.  He  was  so  stupidly  tame,  indeed,  that 
I  considered  the  possibility  of  his  being  a  do- 
mesticated fowl  run  loose,  a  possibility  by  no 
means  to  be  ignored  in  cases  of  this  kind. 

I  once  saw,  though  I  could  hardly  believe  my 
eyes,  a  black  swan  swimming  at  his  ease,  per- 
fectly at  home,  as  it  seemed,  well  in  the  Santa 
Barbara  Channel !  He  was  a  runaway  past  ques- 
tion, since  there  is  no  wild  swan  of  his  color  any- 
where in  North  America. 

Noble  birds  the  godwits  are,  nearly  the  largest 
of  our  shore-birds,  with  beautifully  marbled  upper 
parts,  and  prodigiously  long  particolored  bills 
slightly  uptilted  at  the  tip,  perfect  tools,  no 
doubt,  for  the  carrying  on  of  their  particular  hne 
of  industry.  If,  as  we  are  told,  a  man  who  is  to 
sup  with  the  devil  needs  a  long  spoon  (though 
in  such  disagreeable  company  I  cannot  conceive 
that  the  shape  or  dimensions  of  one's  table 
utensils  would  be  of  much  account),  a  bird  which 
gets  its  living  out  of  the  depths  of  mud  must 
needs  have  a  long  bill. 

Whether  the  two  colors  of  the  bill  — flesh- 
47 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

color  at  the  base  and  dusky  toward  the  end  — 
are  designed  for  utility  or  ornament  (or  for  nei- 
ther) I  hazard  no  guess.  And  I  may  say  the 
same  regarding  its  slight  upward  inclination, 
which  gives  its  owner  a  pleasingly  rakish  air, 
especially  in  certain  of  its  attitudes;  when,  for 
instance,  it  poses  on  one  of  its  long  legs  with  its 
neck  drawn  in  and  its  bill  held  halfway  level,  ex- 
actly as  Audubon  pictured  it.  I  once  saw  one  on 
our  beach  who  looked  for  all  the  world  as  if  he 
had  stepped  out  of  the  book.  **  Yes,  sir,"  he  might 
have  said,  "I  am  Audubon's  bird."  And  nobody 
could  have  denied  it. 

My  bird  of  yesterday  was  an  exceptionally 
handsome  specimen,  or  so  I  thought  ;  decidedly 
handsome  at  all  events,  whether  or  not  he  had 
any  actual  preeminence  in  that  respect.  It  was 
one  of  those  cases,  perhaps,  where  something 
must  be  allowed  for  the  play  of  an  excited  im- 
agination. 

For  some  minutes  he  fed  quietly;  at  least, 
he  went  through  all  the  appropriate  motions, 
thrusting  his  bill  into  the  mud  again  and  again. 
But  as  an  angler  may  cast  by  the  hour  and  catch 
nothing,  so  we  may  presume  it  w^ll  sometimes 
fare  with  a  godwit  —  if  he  is  equally  patient,  or 
equally  simple.  For  some  reason,  at  any  rate, 
this  fellow  soon  took  wing  again  with  a  succes- 

48 


IN  THE  ESTERO 

sion  of  raucous  cries,  and  made  off  beyond  the 
railway  seaward,  where  he  speedily  became  a 
speck,  and  then  vanished  altogether. 

"Good-bye,  and  thank  you  for  small  favors,"  I 
called  after  him.  There  was  no  one  by  to  smile 
at  my  enthusiasm.  And  even  if  there  had  been, 
why  not  thank  a  bird  as  well  as  a  man  or  a  dog  ? 
His  departure,  regrettable  as  it  was,  did  not 
leave  me  without  plenty  of  congenial  society. 
The  place  was  alive  with  smaller  birds  —  West- 
ern sandpipers,  least  sandpipers,  snowy  plovers 
(fifty  or  more),  killdeers,  and,  much  the  most  in- 
teresting of  all,  the  others  being  matters  of 
every  day,  two  kind  of  phalaropes,  one  red  pha- 
larope  —  or  so  I  called  it,  with  something  short 
of  certainty  at  the  time,  and  more  still  in  the 
retrospect  —  and  three  of  the  kind  known  as 
Wilson's  or  the  American. 

The  red  one  —  in  autumnal  dress,  sporting  not 
so  much  as  a  single  red  feather,  and  suspici- 
ously ahead  of  its  schedule  —  kept  strictly  by 
itself  off  in  one  corner,  while  the  three  Wilson's 
flocked  together  in  the  midst  of  the  sandpipers. 
One  of  them  was  in  gray,  as  to  the  upper  parts, 
I  mean,  the  other  two  in  motley,  much  like  the 
sandpipers,  to  my  ignorant  surprise. 

All  had  rather  bright  yellow  legs,  a  mark  of 
youth,  like  the  mottled  wings,  and  a  novel  feature 
49 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

to  my  eye,  as  I  had  met  with  the  species  hitherto 
only  in  spring,  when  it  not  only  wears  a  different 
coat,  but  has  black  legs.  To  dress  according  to 
age  and  season  is  as  much  a  rule  with  many 
birds,  especially  water-birds,  as  it  is  with  human 
kind.  If  the  custom  has  no  other  advantage,  it  at 
least  renders  field  ornithology  a  far  more  intri- 
cate and  therefore  a  more  interesting  study. 

In  spring,  too,  there  is  a  more  pronounced 
difference  between  the  sexes,  the  female  phala- 
rope,  which  is  a  full  size  larger  than  the  male, 
being  also,  as  with  human  beings,  much  the 
more  showily  attired.  It  is  reported,  Ukewise 
(at  which  point,  needless  to  say,  the  human 
comparison  fails),  that  she  lords  it  effectually 
over  her  mate,  throwing  upon  his  shoulders  all 
the  burden  —  no  light  one  —  of  the  household 
drudgery. 

"You  are  more  protectively  colored,"  she  is 
supposed  to  say  to  him,  "  and  therefore  the  eggs 
and  the  darling  little  ones  will  be  safer  if  you 
attend  to  the  brooding." 

A  wise  bird,  you  perceive,  is  the  female  phala- 
rope,  a  very  thoughf ul  and  affectionate  mother. 
And  the  male,  by  all  accounts,  is  so  impressed 
by  her  reasoning,  or  so  deeply  in  love,  or  other- 
wise of  so  amiable  a  temper,  that  he  raises  not 
the  least  objection. 

50 


IN   THE   ESTERO 

"Quite  right,  my  dear,  quite  right,  as  you  al- 
ways are." 

And  down  he  drops  upon  the  eggs,  while 
she  gads  about  —  to  the  Browning  Club  or 
where  not  —  at  her  own  good  pleasure.  A  pat- 
tern of  a  spouse,  a  model  fncnage,  and  conjugal 
felicity  without  a  jar !  For  anything  I  can  see, 
birds  are  about  as  well  off  as  their  superiors  in 
matters  of  this  delicate  and  more  or  less  uncer- 
tain nature. 

I  confess,  notwithstanding,  that  the  case  of 
the  phalaropes  is  so  extremely  exceptional  (among 
birds),  that,  whenever  I  have  been  watching  a 
pair  side  by  side  in  springtime,  I  have  found  my- 
self continually  saying  "  he  "  of  the  bigger  and 
brighter  one,  —  an  ungallant  lapse  for  which,  if  I 
knew  how  to  do  it,  I  would  tender  her  my  best 
apologies. 

It  has  been  no  slight  gratification  to  find  all 
three  species  —  the  entire  family,  in  short,  for 
there  is  no  fourth  one  the  world  over  —  present 
twice  a  year  on  my  Santa  Barbara  stamping- 
grounds. 

Wilson's  is  the  largest  and  to  my  taste  the 
most  attractive  of  the  three,  although,  where  all 
are  so  lovely,  the  very  perfection  of  daintiness 
and  grace,  it  is  perhaps  presumptuous  to  affect  a 
choice.  It  is  strictly  an  American  bird  also  (which 
51 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

its  patriotic  fellow  countrymen  may  take  as  an- 
other consideration  in  its  favor),  breeding  mostly 
inland,  and  comparatively  rare  on  both  coasts  even 
in  its  migrations,  which,  like  others  of  our  North 
American  water-birds,  it  extends  for  some,  to  me 
unimaginable,  reason  as  far  south  as  Patagonia. 

The  two  other  species  are  summer  residents 
of  the  arctic  and  sub-arctic  portions  of  the  north- 
ern hemisphere  in  general,  eastern  and  western, 
and  winter  nobody  knows  where,  supposedly  on 
the  southern  oceans. 

The  commonest  one  hereabout  is  the  Northern, 
as  it  is  also  the  smallest.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
they  will  be  as  numerous  this  season  as  they 
were  a  year  ago,  and  stay  with  us  as  long.  Then 
they  remained  for  many  weeks,  or  were  many 
weeks  in  passing  (from  August  i6  to  October  21 
by  my  records),  and  could  be  seen  almost  any 
day,  a  dozen  or  more  at  once,  swimming  in  small 
pools  close  beside  the  boulevard,  where,  as  they 
well  deserved,  they  attracted  much  attention  even 
from  the  occupants  of  carriages  and  automobiles, 
which  went  rattling  and  booming  past  almost 
continuously. 

At  that  season,  in  undress  uniform,  they  are 

best  distinguished  from  the  red  phalarope  (called 

also,  from  its  winter  dress,  the  gray  phalarope) 

by  their  smaller  heads  and  their  peculiarly  slim 

52 


IN    THE   ESTERO 

necks,  which  they  habitually  carry  upright  at  full 
length,  so  that,  as  I  have  heard  more  than  one 
person  remark,  they  have  much  the  appearance 
of  miniature  swans. 

The  red  phalarope,  on  the  other  hand,  as  I  have 
seen  it,  is  a  stouter,  bigger-headed,  "  chunkier  "- 
looking  bird,  though  this  last  is  a  point  of  differ- 
ence which  I  was  compelled  to  find  out  for  myself ; 
and,  having  done  so,  as  I  believed,  in  autumn,  I 
was  compelled  to  wait  for  its  verification  till  the 
following  spring,  when  I  had  unquestioned  ex- 
amples of  both  species  before  me  in  complete 
nuptial  plumage. 

Any  phalarope,  however  dressed,  may  be  iden- 
tified at  once  by  the  bill  and  feet,  provided  you 
have  the  bird  in  hand ;  but  this,  of  course,  to  a 
consistent  "  field-glass  man  "  seldom  or  never  hap- 
pens. And,  moreover,  what  he  desires,  and  what 
he  cannot  be  satisfied  without,  is  to  know  his 
bird  whenever  he  sees  it,  alive  and  out  of  doors. 
To  accomplish  this  he  must  exercise  all  patience 
and  have  recourse  to  all  possible  expedients;  and 
even  then,  in  the  case  of  species  so  confusingly 
alike  as  these  two  autumnal  phalaropes,  he  must 
be  contented,  for  a  long  time  at  least,  till  belief 
little  by  little  settles  into  certainty,  as  luckily  it 
has  a  way  of  doing,  to  Hst  his  migrants  with  an 
unpleasant  degree  of  questioning. 
53 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

It  is  not  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  a 
man  to  have  a  reasonable,  or  even  a  slightly  un- 
reasonable, measure  of  confidence  in  himself  ;  it 
contributes  to  the  joy  of  living;  but  it  is  a  bad 
sign  when  he  begins  to  suspect  himself  of  infalli- 
bility. Sooner  or  later  he  will  probably  find  him- 
self out,  or,  if  he  does  n't,  so  much  the  worst  for 
him. 

All  phalaropes  are  remarkably  unsuspicious  so 
far  as  human  beings  are  concerned,  as  if  they  had 
never  had  occasion  to  look  upon  men  as  more 
dangerous  than  so  many  wolves  or  oxen.  My  first 
acquaintance  with  the  family  was  with  a  solitary 
Wilson's  many  years  ago  in  the  mountains  of 
North  Carolina,  and  I  have  narrated  elsewhere 
my  repeated  and  all  but  successful  attempts  to 
take  it  out  of  the  water  in  my  hand. 

The  first  couple  of  the  same  species  that  I  saw 
in  Santa  Barbara  (a  lovely  pair  they  were,  in  their 
prettiest  honeymoon  dress)  were  not  quite  so  tame 
as  that,  but  charmingly  trustful.  And  my  first 
undoubted  Santa  Barbara  red  one  allowed  me  to 
move  so  closely  about  him  on  the  bare  sand  that 
finally  I  could  no  longer  focus  my  glass  upon  him, 
and  was  compelled  to  withdraw  a  few  yards  for 
a  nicer  examination,  — to  get  farther  away,  that 
is,  in  order  to  get  a  nearer  view,  which  is  what 
we  may  call  the  field-glass  paradox.  Indeed,  I 
54 


IN   THE  ESTERO 

thought  the  creature  must  surely  be  crippled, 
and  was  pitying  him  accordingly,  when  a  dog 
suddenly  ran  near,  and  whiff!  away  went  the 
bird  as  lively  as  a  cricket.  The  next  morning,  to 
my  intense  delight,  both  he  and  his  splendid  high- 
colored  mate  were  in  the  same  spot,  the  only 
pair  of  the  kind  that  I  have  ever  seen  together. 
They  flew  away  together,  and  let  us  hope  are  to- 
gether still. 

Northern  phalaropes  have  resort  to  a  remark- 
ably taking  and  ingenious  device  when  feeding  in 
shallow  water.  Seated  on  the  surface,  they  whirl 
rapidly  round  and  round  like  a  top  or  a  dancing 
dervish.  I  have  seen  numbers  of  them  thus  curi- 
ously engaged  in  a  small  pool.  Two  that  I  no- 
ticed a  few  days  ago  within  a  yard  of  each  other 
were  revolving  in  opposite  directions,  one  from 
right  to  left,  the  other  from  left  to  right.  It  was 
almost  dizzying  to  look  at  them.  In  fact,  a  fellow 
observer,  by  no  means  a  weakling,  has  assured 
me  that  on  one  occasion  the  sight  actually  affected 
him  with  nausea,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  turn 
away  his  head  to  recover  himself. 

Northern  phalaropes  have  this  habit,  I  say.  I 
happen  never  to  have  seen  either  of  the  two  other 
species  indulging  in  it.  But  not  for  a  moment 
will  I  think  of  asserting  that  they  never  do,  lest 
to-morrow  or  the  day  after,  to  my  chagrin,  I  go 
55 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

out  and  find  them  hard  at  it.  I  have  had  morti- 
fying experiences  in  this  line,  and  hope  I  have 
learned  wisdom. 

Sometimes  I  have  been  tempted  to  imagine 
that  wild  creatures  amuse  themselves  by  laying 
up  little  surprises  of  one  sort  and  another  for  our 
humiliation,  so  often  do  we  find  them  doing  some- 
thing wholly  unexpected  —  building  a  nest  in 
some  preposterous  situation,  breaking  out  with 
some  absolutely  uncharacteristic  song,  or  other- 
wise conducting  themselves  in  a  manner  which 
after  years  of  intimate  acquaintance  we  should 
have  pronounced  impossible. 

Tell  what  you  have  seen,  say  I ;  but  if  you 
value  your  self-respect  as  what  is  called  an  ob- 
server (a  word  I  have  wearied  of),  beware  of  nega- 
tive assertions.  Better  know  less  and  be  sure 
of  it. 

As  for  this  clever  rotatory  method  of  stirring 
up  the  bottom  of  shallow  pools,  it  is  most  likely 
common  to  phalaropes  in  general,  like  the  pre- 
eminence by  them  so  gallantly  accorded  to  the 
feminine  sex.  If  this  should  turn  out  to  be  true, 
I  should  be  in  favor  of  naming  them  the  whirli- 
gig family,  according  to  the  good  old  aboriginal 
custom  of  descriptive  cognomens.  "Whirligig 
birds";  yes,  I  think  that  would  be  excellent  — 
rememberable  and  expressive. 

56 


IN   THE   ESTERO 

So  far  I  wrote  in  the  summer  of  191 1,  telling 
what  I  had  seen  ;  but  with  the  autumn  came  in- 
crease of  knowledge.    September  and  October 
brought  thousands  of  Northern  phalaropes,  and 
m  November,  ten  days  after  the  last  of  these  had 
taken  their  departure,  came  a  flock  of  two  hun- 
dred, more  or  less,  of  the  so-called  red  species,  — 
as  much  to  our  surprise  as  to  our  pleasure,  since 
nothing  of  the  kind  had  been  witnessed  during 
the  three  previous  seasons.    Day  by  day  their 
numbers  were  augmented  till  the  whole  Estero, 
on  both  sides  of  the  railroad,  was  thick  with 
them.  Every  pool  had  its  quota.  And  in  the  mat- 
ter of  whirling  they  proved  to  be  not  a  whit  be- 
hind their  Northern  relatives.    Scores  of  them 
could  be  seen  practising  the  vertiginous  game  at 
once.    In  more  senses  than  one  it  was  a  stirring 
spectacle;  and  ''whirligig  birds"  seemed  more 
than  ever  appropriate  as  a  family  cognomen. 


AN   EXCITING  FORENOON 

IT  is  with  birds  as  with  places  and  people; 
some  are  endeared  to  us  by  one  quality,  and 
some  by  a  different  or  even  an  opposite  quality. 
The  phalaropes  are  trustful.  They  swim  about 
us  almost  within  hand's  reach ;  we  like  them  for 
that.  Other  birds  are  wary  to  the  last  degree ; 
we  must  match  our  wits  against  theirs,  or  we 
shall  never  have  them  within  comfortable  eye- 
reach ;  and  we  like  them  for  that,  and  pursue 
them  the  harder.  And  others,  a  few,  are  never 
so  highly  appreciated  as  when  we  gaze  at  them 
afar  off.  Such  are  the  common  carrion-eating 
vultures,  turkey-buzzards  we  call  them ;  almost 
disgusting  near  at  hand,  but  miracles  of  grace  as 
they  float  in  wide  circles  far  above  us  under  the 
great  blue  dome. 

For  me,  and  I  suppose  for  every  one,  there  is 
a  peculiar  satisfaction  in  coming  unexpectedly 
close  upon  any  shy  creature,  be  it  larger  or 
smaller,  bird  or  beast.  Thus  I  recall  my  sensa- 
tions a  year  ago  when  after  standing  a  long  time 
motionless  on  the  brim  of  a  deep,  steeply  walled 
canon,  admiring  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
our  Santa  Barbara  prospects,  I  heard  something 
58 


AN   EXCITING    FORENOON 

stir  just  below  me,  and  the  next  instant  saw  a 
wildcat  emerge  from  the  chaparral  and,  oblivious 
of  my  proximity,  though  there  was  nothing  but 
the  air  between  us,  mount  a  boulder  like  the  one 
I  was  myself  standing  on,  and  look  leisurely 
about  him. 

Of  the  same  nature,  though  less  startling,  is 
the  satisfaction  I  take  in  surprising,  or,  better 
still,  in  being  surprised  by,  some  more  or  less 
ordinary  bird  at  an  extraordinarily  near  range. 
And  this  is  what  befell  me  yesterday. 

I  had  been  making  my  daily  morning  round 
of  the  Estero,  and,  having  been  rewarded  by  no- 
thing out  of  the  common  run,  was  turning  city- 
ward, when  I  bethought  myself,  as  a  last  Resort, 
to  look  into  one  other  pool,  in  which  I  had  occa- 
sionally found  something  of  interest. 

Here,  as  throughout  the  Estero,  a  goodly 
number  of  Western  sandpipers  were  feeding, 
and  near  them  was  a  comparatively  infrequent 
and  therefore  better-appreciated  visitor,  a  single 
yellow-legs,  or  telltale. 

This  I  saw  at  a  glance  was  of  a  medium  size, 
neither  one  thing  nor  another,  as  I  expressed  it 
to  myself,  so  that  I  was  uncertain  whether  to 
take  it  for  a  small  example  of  melanoleitais  or  a 
large  example  oijlavipes,  these  being  two  species 
of  the  genus  Totanus  which  differ  only  in  the 
59 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

matter  of  size,  showing,  so  far  as  I  have  ever 
heard,  no  appreciable  difference  in  the  way  of 
plumage. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  the  longer  I  studied 
the  fellow,  the  worse  off  I  found  myself.  One 
minute  it  was  large  enough  for  the  larger  spe- 
cies ;  the  next  minute  it  was  small  enough  for 
the  smaller  one,  which  latter,  I  must  confess  in 
the  interest  of  truth,  I  was  rather  desirous  of 
calling  it,  since  that  is  much  the  less  common 
of  the  two  on  the  Pacific  coast.  As  an  honest 
observer,  desiring  to  play  fair  with  myself,  I  was 
bound  to  stand  on  my  guard  against  being  in- 
fluenced by  any  such  unscientific  consideration. 

On  the  other  hand,  however,  I  reminded  my- 
self that  I  had  been  looking  for  the  last  hour  at 
hosts  of  very  small  sandpipers,  and  indeed  was 
looking  at  them  now  in  this  very  pool ;  naturally, 
almost  inevitably,  therefore,  by  force  of  uncon- 
scious comparison,  (a  force  that  I  have  often 
found  myself  laboring  under),  this  larger  bird 
would  strike  me  as  larger  than  it  really  was. 

Tossed  thus,  like  a  shuttlecock,  between  con- 
trary opinions,  I  felt  increasingly  foolish,  as  a 
man  sensitive  about  his  standing  in  his  own  eyes 
of  necessity  will  in  such  a  predicament,  though 
as  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  simply  manifesting  a 
commendable  spirit  of  scientific  caution.  If  I 
60 


AN   EXCITING   FORENOON 

had  been  a  younger  hand  at  the  business,  I  could 
probably  have  decided  the  question  on  the  in- 
stant. Given  a  certain  measure  of  inexperience, 
and  certainty  is  about  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world.  Why  bother  one's  head  with  second 
thoughts  ?  What  a  man  knows,  he  knows,  and 
there  's  an  end  on 't.  Alas,  I  have  found  that  too 
often  what  a  man  knows  he  does  n't  know  ;  and 
so  with  age  comes  slowness  of  decision  with  all 
its  disagreeable  concomitants. 

At  last  I  determined  to  hear  the  bird's  voice. 
That  might  furnish  a  clue,  though  I  believed 
that  the  two  species  were  practically  one  in  this 
respect  also.  In  any  event,  the  experiment  was 
worth  trying.  I  stepped  briskly  forward,  there- 
fore, with  as  much  bluster  as  I  could  conveniently 
command  on  so  narrow  a  stage,  expecting  the 
bird  as  a  reasonable  being  to  take  alarm  and  make 
off,  giving  voice  as  it  flew. 

But  even  when  I  had  come  as  near  it  as  I 
could  without  wading  into  the  black,  muddy 
water,  the  long-legged  creature  simply  stalked  a 
little  farther  out,  and,  having  nodded  a  few  times 
after  its  manner,  resumed  its  feeding.  "  Who  's 
afraid } "  it  seemed  to  say.  "  You  're  only  fool- 
ing." 

Well,  a  half-minute  or  so  passed ;  my  glance 
fell  upon  a  narrow  mud-bar,  say  thirty  or  forty 
6i 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

feet  from  where  I  stood ;  and  there,  directly 
under  my  eye,  between  me  and  the  yellow-legs, 
in  open  space,  stood  a  splendid  black-bellied 
plover  in  elegant  plumage,  the  lower  parts  from 
the  chin  downward  jet-black. 

Through  the  field-glass  the  big  fellow  was 
almost  in  my  hand,  the  second  of  its  kind  that 
I  had  ever  seen  in  Santa  Barbara,  and  as  well 
as  I  could  remember,  the  only  one  I  had  ever 
seen  anywhere  in  adult  summer  dress,  the  very 
great  majority  of  autumnal  "beetle-heads,"  as 
gunners  call  them,  having  the  lower  parts  white, 
and  the  upper  parts  largely  gray,  whence  an- 
other of  their  common  names,  the  "  gray  plover." 
Indeed,  I  believe  it  is  true  that  the  birds  put  on 
their  summer  garb  so  late  and  take  it  off  so 
early  that  specimens  in  really  perfect  plumage  — 
which  even  my  bird  could  not  be  said  to  wear  — 
are  almost  never  seen  so  far  south  as  any  part  of 
the  United  States. 

The  thing  was  like  a  miracle.  A  moment  ago 
he  was  not  there.  I  had  not  seen  him  arrive, 
large  as  he  was  and  so  near.  I  had  not  moved  or 
turned  away  my  head ;  there  was  no  cover  from 
behind  which  he  could  have  stepped  into  sight ; 
and  now  there  he  stood,  there  on  a  narrow  neck 
of  land,  perfectly  secure,  had  he  but  known  it, 
but  by  no  means  insensible.  His  bearing  and 
62 


AN   EXCITING   FORENOON 

action    proved    conclusively   that   he   had  just 
alighted. 

However,  this  was  but  half  the  story.  The 
real  miracle  was  yet  to  come. 

From  the  first  instant  the  plover  was  evidently 
much  disturbed  in  his  mind.  Most  likely  he  had 
never  before  found  himself  so  closely  cornered. 
I  think  he  was  as  much  surprised  to  see  me 
as  I  was  to  see  him.  As  he  came  over  the  Es- 
tero,  his  eyes  probably  fell  upon  the  yellow-legs 
and  small  sandpipers  feeding  so  quietly.  **  This  is 
a  promising  place,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  suppose 
I  drop  in."  And  behold,  as  his  feet  touched  the 
mud,  here,  standing  over  him,  was  this  terrible 
monster. 

Nevertheless,  with  all  his  wavering  he  held 
his  ground  for  a  few  moments,  long  enough  for 
me  to  scan  him  again  and  again  from  bill  to  tail. 
Then,  "This  will  never  do,"  he  thought;  ''high 
time  I  was  going  "  ;  and  away  he  went,  sounding 
that  resonant  musical  whistle,  so  very  sweet, 
alas!  in  the  ears  of  all  the  large  and  honorable 
tribe  of  shore-bird  destroyers  ;  for  this  **  beetle- 
head,"  the  prince  of  plovers,  breeding  on  the 
arctic  shores  of  both  continents,  wanders  at  one 
time  and  another  over  nearly  the  whole  earth, 
and  wherever  he  goes,  or  wherever  men  are  suffi- 
ciently civilized  to  enjoy  such  refined,  gentle- 
63 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

manly  amusement,  he  is  treated  as  a  target.  He 
does  well  to  be  wary,  the  warier  the  better.  I 
could  wish  that  he  would  never  allow  a  man  to 
come  within  a  mile.  So  magnificent  and  innocent 
a  creature  to  be  massacred  for  sport ! 

For  a  minute,  possibly,  my  attention  was 
fastened  upon  the  flying  bird  and  his  voice  as  he 
dwindled  out  of  sight.  Then  my  eyes  again 
rested  by  chance  upon  the  bar  of  mud  —  per- 
haps two  rods  in  length  and  a  foot  or  two  wide 
— whence  he  had  flown,  and  behold,  a  second 
wonder !  There  stood  another  bird  of  pretty 
much  the  same  dimensions  and  general  color, 
but  of  a  darker  shade,  and  plainly  not  a  plover. 

For  the  second  time  within  five  minutes  I  was 
struck  with  amazement.  By  what  magic  had  the 
bird  got  there,  and,  far  more  important,  what  in 
the  name  of  ornithology  was  I  to  call  him  .-* 

His  black  bill  was  rather  stout  and  somewhat 
longer  than  the  plover's,  yet  still  of  only  mid- 
dling length  for  a  shore-bird  of  his  size.  Evidently 
he  did  not  probe  mud  for  a  livelihood.  His  fore 
neck  and  upper  breast  were  jet-black,  curiously 
divided  ("curvingly  divided  "  my  pencil  put  it, 
with  greater  exactness)  as  it  ran  down  upon  the 
white  breast ;  and  his  legs  were  of  a  bright 
orange ! 

To  my  eye  he  was  utterly  strange.  He  had 

64 


AN   EXCITING  FORENOON 

somewhat  the  look  and  build  of  an  oyster-catcher, 
I  said  to  myself,  though  the  bill  was  not  long 
enough  nor  stout  enough,  nor  the  bird  himself 
large  enough.  Certainly  he  was  neither  of  the 
oyster-catchers  that  I  knew. 

But  there  was  a  third  one,  Frazar's  by  name, 
rare  and  not  rightfully  falling  within  our  limits, 
a  bird  that  I  had  never  seen,  and  had  never  ex- 
pected to  see,  and  of  which  I  remembered  not  a 
word  of  description.  Could  the  bird  before  me 
be  by  any  possibility  of  that  species  ?  On  all  ac- 
counts this  was  most  unlikely,  or  better  to  say, 
impossible.  But  if  he  was  not  an  oyster-catcher, 
what  could  he  be  ? 

In  plain  words,  I  was  at  my  wits'  end.  The  one 
thing  I  was  sure  of  was  that  here  was  something 
the  like  of  which  I  had  never  set  eyes  on  till 
this  minute. 

Like  the  plover  he  stayed  a  brief  while,  ex- 
tremely restless,  too,  like  the  plover,  as  he  had 
abundant  reason  to  be ;  and  then,  as  soon  as  he 
could  pull  himself  together,  it  seemed,  off  he 
went,  with  harsh  cries  not  in  the  least  resem- 
bling the  plover's  smooth,  melodious  whistle. 

What  would  turn  up  next  on  the  few  square 
feet  of  that  prolific  mud-bar,  out  of  which  birds 
seemed  actually  to  be  born  for  my  delectation 
and  puzzlement  ?  A  flamingo,  perhaps. 

65 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

But  when  I  had  waited  long  enough,  and  the 
age  of  miracles  seemed  to  be  for  the  time  being 
past,  I  took  my  way  homeward,  pondering  over 
what  I  had  seen. 

Once  there,  I  had  recourse  to  the  Handbook. 
My  first  turn  of  the  leaves  was  to  Frazar's 
oyster-catcher.  Nothing  fitted.  I  knew  it  would 
be  so,  I  protested  to  myself.  The  idea  was  ab- 
surd. For  one  thing,  no  oyster-catcher  would 
ever  be  found  in  so  unlikely  a  place. 

But  on  the  margin  of  the  same  leaf  (so  near  a 
shot  had  I  made)  under  a  description  of  the  ruddy 
turnstone  I  saw  written  in  my  own  hand,  sup- 
plying the  book's  too  frequent  lack,  "  Legs  bright 
orange-red."  "Here  we  have  it,"  said  I;  and  on 
reading  the  account  of  that  bird's  juvenile  plum- 
age I  found  my  stranger  faithfully  portrayed. 

I  had  never  seen  a  ruddy  turnstone  before  with- 
out more  or  less  of  those  conspicuous,  highly 
distinctive,  irregularly  disposed  reddish  patches 
which  give  the  wearer  so  odd,  almost  clownish, 
an  appearance,  as  they  give  it  also  sundry  of 
its  popular  names,  —  "  calico-back,"  "  checkered 
snipe,"  and  ''ruddy  turnstone." 

I  had  clean  forgotten  those  bright-colored  legs 
("red-legged  plover"  is  another  of  the  names  it 
is  said  to  go  by),  an  excusable  lapse,  I  try  to  per- 
suade myself,  since  I  had  seen  only  two  such 
66 


AN   EXCITING   FORENOON 

birds  (unusual  on  the  Pacific  coast,  where  the 
black  turnstone  mostly  replaces  them)  in  more 
than  twenty  years. 

After  all,  as  I  consider  the  matter,  I  see  no 
great  reason  to  lament  this  bit  of  forgetfulness. 
It  furnished  me  with  an  hour  or  two  of  pleasur- 
able excitement,  a  thorough  waking-up,  of  a  sort 
not  to  be  enjoyed  every  day  by  any  means  at  my 
time  of  life. 

But  I  still  ask  myself,  "  How  in  the  world  did 
those  birds  land,  one  after  the  other,  at  my  very 
feet  unobserved.?"  I  cannot  believe  that  they 
sprang  into  being  there  and  then,  new-made  like 
Adam  out  of  the  dust  of  the  earth,  a  pitch  of 
faith  that  St.  Francis,  holy  man  and  greater  bro- 
ther of  the  birds,  would  have  experienced  no 
difficulty  in  exercising. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  enough  to  say,  though 
such  an  explanation  may  sound  ludicrously  sim- 
ple after  all  the  talk  I  have  made  about  it,  that 
they  happened  to  drop  in  while  my  eyes  were 
unconsciously  directed  elsewhere.  It  is  a  com- 
mon saying  among  wise  men,  though  little  in 
favor  with  the  vulgar,  that  the  simplest  explana- 
tion is  apt  to  be  the  truest. 

My  morning's  adventure  brought  to  mind  an 
incident  in  no  wise  connected  with  ornithology. 
Many  years  ago  I  was  present  with  a  small  com- 
67 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

pany  of  friends  who  had  assembled  to  hear  one 
of  the  most  widely  known  of  American  novelists 
read  a  play  which  she  had  recently  completed 
and  was  hoping  to  have  presented  upon  the  stage. 
She  read  it  well,  with  no  attempt  at  that  tire- 
some "accomplishment  "  known  as  " elocution  " ; 
we  were  all  deeply  interested ;  and  at  the  close 
there  was  a  general  chorus  of  praise  and  hearty 
congratulation. 

But  a  journalist  and  critic  of  long  experience 
entered  one  slight  objection.  If  the  play  was  to 
be  acted,  there  must  be  a  change  in  the  opening 
scene.  "As  the  scene  stands,"  he  said,  "  the  hero- 
ine is  on  the  stage  with  others  when  the  curtain 
rises.  That  will  never  do.  The  heroine  must  have 
an  entrance." 

That  last  remark  was  what  my  morning's  ad- 
venture called  to  mind.  My  two  birds  would  have 
missed  nine  parts  of  their  dramatic  effect  if,  like 
the  yellowlegs,  they  had  been  on  the  stage  when 
the  curtain  rose. 

They  had  an  entrance,  and  I  had  the  excite- 
ment and  the  wonder  of  it.  I  think  nothing  more 
like  wizardry  ever  happened  to  me  than  the  ap- 
pearance of  that  turnstone,  a  very  sizable,  stur- 
dily built  body,  it  must  be  remembered,  standing 
at  my  feet  where  but  an  instant  before  there 
had  been  nothing. 

6B. 


AN   EXCITING   FORENOON 

And  after  this  I  think  I  shall  not  forget  in  a 

hurry  that  the  ruddy  turnstone's  legs  are  of  a 

bright  orange  color.    That  bit  of  knowledge,  I 
flatter  myself,  is  for  one  while  burned  in. 


A   LONG   PROCESSION 

PELAGIC  birds,  properly  so  called,  seldom 
favor  the  neighborhood  of  the  beach  with 
their  presence.  If  a  solitary  fulmar  swims  within 
the  range  of  a  field-glass,  it  is  by  accident  rather 
than  design.  So  I  infer,  at  least,  from  the  extreme 
rarity  of  the  occurrence.  And  yet,  when  such  an 
event  does  happen,  the  stranger,  if  you  keep  it 
in  sight  long  enough,  may  not  unlikely  pass  di- 
rectly under  your  feet  as  you  stand  on  the  pier. 
If  it  stays  mostly  out  of  sight  of  land,  it  is  not 
because  anything  on  shore  frightens  it.  It  was 
made  to  live  at  sea,  though  it  was  hatched  on  land, 
just  as  the  toad,  its  poor  relation,  is  made  to  live 
on  land,  though  it  is  hatched  in  the  water. 

There  is  one  genus  of  oceanic  birds,  however, 
that  in  the  right  season  may  be  seen,  and  that 
not  so  very  infrequently,  streaming  past  by  thou- 
sands, an  innumerable  host,  moving  in  one  con- 
tinuous procession,  up  the  coast  or  down  the  coast, 
as  things  may  happen.  And  an  exhilarating  sight 
it  is,  although,  unless  your  vision  carries  farther 
than  mine,  you  must  generally  have  a  field-glass 
through  which  to  view  it.  Sometimes  the  route  of 
the  birds  lies  within  the  whistling  buoy  (about 
70 


A   LONG    PROCESSION 

a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  beach,  I  am  told) ; 
oftener,  I  think,  outside  of  it. 

They  are  recognizable  by  their  shape  and,  bet- 
ter still,  by  the  manner  of  their  flight.  For  the 
most  part,  they  seem  not  to  be  migrating,  though 
in  habit  they  are  migratory,  but  rather  hasten- 
ing toward  some  rendezvous,  presumably  some 
fishing-ground,  some  spot  in  the  ocean  where  a 
school  of  sardines  is  at  this  moment  swimming. 
To-day  they  are  going  in  one  direction,  and  to- 
morrow, perhaps,  they  will  be  going  in  the  op- 
posite direction.  But,  whichever  way  they  are 
headed,  they  move  in  a  body,  straight  on  and  on 
and  on  (like  Columbus  in  the  poem)  in  an  unvary- 
ing line,  as  if  they  were  following  a  leader  and 
he  were  following  a  trail. 

As  for  possible  minor  marks  of  identification, 
you  are  never  near  enough  to  discover  whether 
they  have  any.  All  the  birds  are  dark  on  the 
upper  side ;  some  are  dark  all  over  except  for  a 
silvery  lining  of  the  wings,  while  others  are  light- 
colored  not  only  on  the  under  side  of  the  wings, 
but  on  the  lower  parts  of  the  body  as  well.  One 
great  difficulty  under  which  the  man  on  shore 
labors  is  that  they  invariably  fly  low,  almost  graz- 
ing the  surface  of  the  water. 

Their  flight,  swift  as  it  is,  swifter  by  far  than 
the  wind,  as  the  wind's  habit  is  in  quiet  Santa 
71 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Barbara,  may  be  described  as  slightly  undulatory 
or  wavering ;  that  is  to  say,  they  are  continually 
rising  and  falling  (this  explains  how  you  come  to 
see  the  lining  of  the  wings),  suiting  themselves 
to  the  action  of  the  waves,  just  out  of  the  reach  of 
which  they  are  keeping.  In  other  words,  by  inces- 
sant balancing  or  tilting  they  seem  to  be  trying, 
as  pelicans  often  are,  to  see  how  closely  they  can 
follow  the  crest  of  the  wave  without  being  struck 
by  it ;  from  which  fact  it  follows  that  they  are 
continually  falling  momentarily  out  of  sight  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea. 

As  I  have  observed  them  at  Santa  Barbara 
(for  which  purpose,  as  soon  as  I  discover  what 
is  going  on,  I  hasten  out  to  the  end  of  the  long 
pier),  they  maintain,  as  I  have  said,  a  straight 
course,  never  veering  to  left  or  right,  so  far  as 
appears  at  the  observer's  distance,  and  never 
stopping  to  feed — a  strict  case,  as  it  looks,  of 
holding  the  rudder  true  and  steering  for  a  star. 

Long,  sharp  wings,  short  necks  and  tails,  a 
general  appearance  of  "stockiness,"  —  so  much 
you  readily  determine  as  they  hurry  along,  a  wav- 
ering dark  line,  always  at  top  speed.  The  won- 
der is  that  they  are  so  many  and  so  completely  of 
one  mind. 

My  first  sight  of  them  was  at  Monterey,  or 
rather  from  the  adjacent  peninsula  of  Pacific 
72 


A   LONG   PROCESSION 

Grove.  One  cold,  comfortless  afternoon  (May 
28),  with  a  gale  blowing  the  dust  about,  I  clam- 
bered out  over  the  big  rocks  ("  Lovers'  Point," 
I  have  heard  the  place  called),  seeking  a  shelt- 
ered nook  from  which  to  enjoy  the  tremen- 
dous surf ;  and,  having  settled  myself  to  my  sat- 
isfaction, I  raised  the  field-glass  to  look  at  a 
passing  gull,  or  some  such  commonplace  object, 
vi^hen,  behold !  out  there  in  the  bay,  beyond  the 
scope  of  unassisted  eyesight,  there  were  millions 
of  birds  (so  they  looked),  the  water  and  the  air 
immediately  above  it  swarming  with  them.  And 
such  a  commotion  as  they  were  in,  they  and  the 
raging  waters!  Such  swiftness  of  flight,  such 
splashing  and  dashing ! 

I  was  some  minutes  in  shaking  myself  together. 
Then  I  said,  "Shearwaters!" 

I  had  only  read  of  them.  I  had  never  so  much 
as  hoped  to  see  them  ;  but  here  they  were  in  life. 
And  such  life !  They  did  not  plunge  from  aloft 
like  gannets,  or  brown  pelicans,  or  most  terns. 
The  highest  of  them  could  scarcely  be  said  to  be 
up  in  the  air  at  all.  They  skimmed  the  surface  of 
the  water,  and,  as  it  were,  dashed  into  the  white- 
capped  waves  on  a  level.  Shearwaters  in  all  liter- 
alness.  Between  their  intense  and  multitudinous 
activity  and  the  extraordinary  tumult  of  the  water 
there  is  no  beginning  to  describe  the  anima- 

n 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

tion,  the  madness,  the  wild  fury  and  riot  of  the 
scene. 

The  next  day  it  was  the  same  story  continued ; 
and  by  this  time,  having  consulted  my  only  au- 
thority, I  was  ready  to  say  (in  my  note-book) : 
"I  should  think  there  must  be  two  or  three  spe- 
cies, but,  of  course,  it  is  all  guesswork  with  me. 
The  birds  are  too  distant,  and  fly  too  fast." 

On  the  first  day  of  June  I  made  another  entry : 
"  The  show  is  still  on.  And  this  afternoon  the 
birds  came  nearer  the  shore.  The  greater  part,  I 
think,  are  dark  all  over  except  for  the  silvery  lin- 
ing of  the  wings.  Others  have  light  under  parts, 
while  above  they  are  dark.  The  all-dark  ones 
look  amazingly  Uke  huge,  overgrown  swifts — the 
wings  so  long,  narrow,  and  sharp,  and  the  bodies 
(perhaps)  bobbin-shaped." 

The  next  afternoon  I  was  again  on  the  rocks. 
The  same  riotous  scene !  The  same  incalculable 
numbers  !  "Also,"  the  pencil  writes,  "I  noted  one 
dark  bird  with  a  white  head,  flying  very  fast."  I 
still  wonder  what  that  could  have  been, — one  of 
the  fulmars  not  improbably.)  Flocks,  too,  of  what 
appeared  to  be  small  white  birds  were  continually 
flying  across  my  field  of  vision,  all  following  one 
course.  Sandpipers  or  plovers  I  supposed  them 
to  be  ;  but  two  days  later,  as  will  appear,  I  found 
reason  to  revise  my  opinion. 
74 


A  LONG   PROCESSION 

In  the  forenoon  of  that  day  (June  4)  I  took  in 
the  show  from  Lighthouse  Point,  — the  end  of 
Point  Pinos,— a  much  more  favorable  station,  as 
the  birds  passed  at  shorter  range.  "  More  than 
ever  this  morning,  a  countless  host,  the  bodies 
all  dark,"  says  the  notebook. 

Four  hours  afterward  they  were  still  pouring 
into  the  bay,  past  the  same  point,  in  an  unintert 
rupted  stream ;  and  I  made  an  effort,  watch  in 
hand,  to  count  them— about  two  hundred  a  min- 
ute. Two  hours  later  yet  they  were  still  flying, 
but  now  in  so  dense  a  mass  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  be  anything  like  exact  in  my  enumeration, 
though  I  did  my  best  —  "  three  or  four  hundred 
to  the  minute." 

For  six  hours,  and  there  is  no  telling  for  how 
much  longer,  they  passed  at  this  rate,  all  in  one 
direction,  toward  the  inner  bay.  Were  they  going 
there  to  fish,  I  wondered,  or  were  they  bound 
farther,  up  or  down  the  coast  ?  But  I  could  only 
say  that,  left  and  right,  as  far  as  the  field-glass 
carried,  the  procession  was  always  approaching 
and  disappearing. 

Some  time  later  I  returned  to  Lovers'  Point, 
where  the  notebook  indicates  plainly  enough  my 
bewildered  state  of  mind. 

'*  The  larger  part  of  the  birds  are  in  the  water; 
but  the  noticeable  feature  of  the  case  is  that  a 
75 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

good  proportion  of  them  show  the  light  under 
parts,  while  of  those  that  have  been  streaming 
all  day  past  the  lighthouse,  perhaps  a  mile  from 
here,  not  one  in  a  thousand  showed  otherwise 
than  dark.  Was  that  host  quite  distinct  from  this  ? 
And,  if  so,  where  has  it  gone  ?  But  perhaps  it  is 
here,  after  all,  for  now  I  discover  myriads  of  black- 
bodied  birds  in  the  air  in  a  fairly  close  flock.  And 
now  a  fishing-boat,  one  of  a  hundred  or  two  in 
the  offing,  ploughs  through  the  bedded  flock,  and 
they  rise  in  a  cloud."  But  even  now,  in  these 
startling  conditions,  they  never  rise  high,  the 
pencil  is  scrupulous  to  add. 

It  is  practically  certain,  as  I  now  consider,  that 
there  were  two  or  more  species  in  the  bay,  the 
dark-bodied,  so  called,  and  the  black- vented  (these 
two  pretty  surely),  and  probably  the  pink-footed. 

But  think  of  the  numbers  !  For  six  hours,  and, 
for  anything  I  can  say,  for  an  indefinitely  longer 
period,  they  passed  Lighthouse  Point  at  a  proba- 
ble average  rate  of  three  hundred  to  the  minute ; 
three  hundred  and  sixty  minutes  at  three  hun- 
dred to  the  minute,  more  than  one  hundred  thou- 
sand birds !  And  who  could  guess  how  many 
thousands  of  another  kind  were  at  the  same  mo- 
ment resting  in  the  bay  .'' 

As  against  this  enormous  estimate,  however, 
it  is  to  be  said  that  the  flock,  as  some  have  imag- 
1^ 


A   LONG   PROCESSION 

ined  to  be  true  in  such  cases  (though  nobody  has 
proved  it,  so  far  as  I  heard),  may  have  been  mov- 
ing in  a  wide  circle,  —  a  circle  so  very  wide  that 
its  visible  arc  at  a  little  distance  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  straight  line,  so  that  the  same  birds, 
quartering  the  sea  in  search  of  prey,  may  have 
passed  my  station  more  than  once  in  the  six 
hours.  But,  figure  the  affair  as  you  will,  the  num- 
ber remains  sufficiently  amazing. 

At  Lighthouse  Point,  by  the  by,  I  discovered 
that  my  "  small  white  birds  "  were  neither  sand- 
pipers nor  plovers,  but  phalaropes.  A  dozen  or 
so  were  feeding  in  a  pool  of  fresh  water  at  my 
back,  and  great  numbers  could  be  seen  resting 
upon  the  ocean  a  little  offshore,  while  now  and 
then  a  bird  would  pass  from  one  group  to  the 
other.  When  you  see  a  flock  of  small  sandpipers 
swimming,  you  may  know  they  are  not  sandpipers. 

And  it  occurs  to  me  as  I  write  that  while  I 
stood  there  listening  to  the  thunders  of  the  surf 
and  gazing  upon  this  interminable  line  of  shear- 
waters, I  saw  all  unexpectedly,  for  the  first  and 
only  time,  one  of  the  most  showily  decorated  of 
all  water-birds,  a  tufted  puffin.  The  wonderful 
creature  flew  past  me,  close  in,  pushing  before 
him  that  prodigiously  large  and  brilliantly  colored 
triangular  red  bill ;  a  bill  designed  for  ornament 
rather  than  use,  one  would  say,  to  look  at  it,  awk- 
77 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

ward  in  size  and  awkward  in  shape,  but  by  all 
accounts  a  powerful  weapon,  capable  of  inflicting 
a  painful  wound  upon  the  hand  that  intrudes  into 
its  burrow,  cutting  to  the  bone  and  tightening 
its  grip  till  the  jaws  are  pried  apart  or  the  bird 
is  killed. 

The  sight  of  that  one  superb  creature,  transient 
as  it  was,  would  have  been  enough  of  itself  to 
make  this  fourth  day  of  June  a  day  memorable 
in  the  life  of  a  landlubberly  ornithological  en- 
thusiast. All  the  pigments  of  all  the  painters  in 
the  world  could  not  have  yielded  a  brighter  red 
than  that  puffin,  hatched  in  a  noisome  dark  bur- 
row and  living  at  sea,  had  managed  somehow  to 
secure,  along  with  a  pair  of  most  elegant  flowing 
pale-yellow  plumes,  as  a  nuptial  decoration. 

Marvelous  things  in  the  way  of  color  has  old 
Mother  Earth  hidden  away  from  human  observa- 
tion. It  ought  to  be  evident  to  the  dullest  and 
proudest  among  us  (for  none  but  the  dull  are 
likely  to  be  very  proud)  that  the  beauties  of  the 
world  were  not  made  exclusively  for  man's  ap- 
preciation. We  are  not  the  only  ones  with  eyes 
and  ears,  though  it  may  be  true,  as  we  fondly  as- 
sure ourselves,  hard-pushed  as  we  might  be  to 
prove  it,  that  we  stand  at  the  top  of  things. 

But  the  shearwaters  !  They  were  the  wonder 
of  the  day,  after  all.  Plow  strange  a  life  they 
7S 


A  LONG   PROCESSION 

lead !  A  whole  nation  moving  up  and  down  the 
world  in  a  body,  skimming  the  face  of  the  tracks 
less  waters,  seeking  their  prey,  which  also  wan- 
ders hither  and  thither  in  a  body,  millions  swim- 
ming as  one.  Above  the  water  and  beneath  the 
water  it  is  gregariousness  beyond  that  of  the 
Goths  and  Huns. 


A  VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

I  HAD  never  seen  a  wild  swan  till  the  twenty- 
second  of  December,  1908.  That  morning  I 
walked  out,  as  I  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  every 
few  days,  to  Laguna  Blanca,  the  only  body  of 
fresh  water  in  the  neighborhood  of  Santa  Bar- 
bara ;  an  artificial  lake,  at  least  in  its  present  size 
and  condition,  though  an  old  Spanish  resident  of 
the  city  tells  me  there  was  always  water  there. 
Shooting  is  prohibited  by  its  owners,  and  through- 
out the  winter,  under  this  privilege  of  sanctuary, 
the  lake  is  frequented  by  many  kinds  of  water- 
fowl. 

On  this  particular  morning,  as  I  drew  near, 
expecting  to  find  the  usual  assortment  of  ducks, 
coots,  and  grebes,  with  gulls,  perhaps,  and  two 
or  three  cormorants,  I  was  startled  by  the  sight 
of  a  single  large  white  bird,  —  out  of  comparison 
larger  than  any  of  these,  — which  a  second  glance 
showed  to  be,  of  all  things  alive,  a  swan. 

I  advanced  toward  it  at  a  snail's  pace,  standing 
still  after  every  step  (the  wonderful  stranger  must 
not  be  disturbed  if  any  possible  degree  of  caution 
could  prevent  it),  and  presently  a  flock  of  seven 
—  my  one  bird  included  —  came  swimming  shore- 
80 


A   VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

ward  from  behind  a  dense  clump  of  tall  tules.  I 
took  them  in  with  all  eagerness,  not  knowing 
how  soon  they  might  become  alarmed  and  make 
off,  and  soon  had  them  in  an  excellent  light  and 
at  a  comfortably  short  range.  Seven  wild  swans ! 
And  close  by!  What  a  vision!  If  the  heavens 
had  opened,  I  could  hardly  have  been  more  sur- 
prised. 

Then  a  horseman  rode  past,  while  I  held  my 
breath  and  wished  him  elsewhere  ;  but  instead  of 
taking  flight  the  magnificent  birds  simply  wheeled 
about  and  swam  to  the  middle  of  the  lake,  where 
they  came  to  rest,  and  at  once  tucked  their  heads 
under  their  wings.  I  rejoiced  to  see  them  so  per- 
fectly at  home.  Who  could  tell  but  they  might 
be  proposing  to  pass  the  season  with  us  ? 

After  feasting  my  eyes  upon  them  sufficiently 
for  the  nonce,  I  proceeded  with  my  walk,  and 
three  hours  later,  on  my  return,  came  again  in 
sight  of  the  lake.  At  that  moment  the  swans 
were  headed  straight  toward  me  with  the  appar- 
ent intention  of  coming  ashore.  Catching  sight 
of  a  man,  however,  they  wheeled  about,  and  after 
a  little  hesitation  made  for  the  opposite  bank. 
There  they  busied  themselves  with  dressing  their 
feathers  till  something  startled  into  flight  a  multi- 
tude of  ducks  and  coots.  At  this  the  swans  lifted 
their  heads,  and  after  looking  suspiciously  around 
81 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

(such  a  commotion  should  mean  somethings  they 
considered)  sailed  into  the  middle  of  the  lake,  re- 
minding me  by  their  stately  movement,  one  be- 
hind another  in  a  kind  of  formal  order,  of  the 
day  not  long  before  when  a  line  of  sixteen  white 
battle-ships  had  steamed  into  Santa  Barbara  chan- 
nel. To  my  ornithological  mind,  in  its  present 
excited  state,  one  procession  seemed  scarcely 
more  impressive  than  the  other. 

The  following  day  was  spent  among  the  hills 
behind  the  city,  and  at  the  height  of  land  on  the 
steep,  winding  trail  from  Mission  Canon  over 
into  San  Roque  Canon  I  stopped  to  breathe  and 
look  about  me.  Laguna  Blanca,  far  below  and 
some  miles  away,  shone  as  one  of  the  fairest  ob- 
jects in  the  landscape,  and  it  occurred  to  me  to 
level  the  field-glass  upon  it  to  see  whether  by 
any  possibility  the  swans  could  be  distinguished 
at  that  distance.  Sure  enough,  they  were  dis- 
tinctly visible,  grouped  in  the  middle  of  the  lake, 
which  otherwise,  for  aught  the  glass  could  tell 
me,  might  have  been  entirely  deserted,  though  it 
was  certain  that  hundreds  if  not  thousands  of 
coots  and  ducks  were  resting  upon  its  surface. 
For  showing  from  afar  there  is  no  color  to  dis- 
pute with  white. 

As  I  neared  the  lake  the  next  morning  —  how 
could  I  keep  away }  —  the  swans  seemed  to  be 
82 


A   VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

absent ;  but  before  many  minutes  I  came  upon 
them  close  inshore  in  a  Uttle  bay,  surrounded  by 
hundreds  of  ducks  and  coots,  the  coots,  most  lo- 
quacious bodies,  engaged  as  usual  in  an  animated 
conversation. 

I  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  desirous  of  improv- 
ing so  favorable  an  opportunity  to  make  sure 
whether  the  swans  had  a  small  yellowish  patch 
in  the  loral  region  (between  the  eye  and  the  base 
of  the  upper  mandible),  an  inconspicuous  mark, 
the  presence  or  absence  of  which  would  deter- 
mine the  specific  identity  of  the  birds,  whether 
whistling  or  trumpeter  swans.  Before  I  could 
satisfy  myself  upon  this  nice  point,  however,  the 
smaller  birds  took  the  alarm ;  and,  their  noisy, 
hurried  flight,  with  so  much  dragging  of  the  feet, 
proving  too  much  for  the  swans,  they  sailed  away 
to  their  one  place  of  safety,  where  they  immedi- 
ately tucked  their  heads  under  their  wings  for  a 
forenoon  nap. 

Half  an  hour  later,  while  I  was  spying  upon  a 
strange-looking  fox  sparrow  scratching  about  the 
roots  of  the  tules,  one  of  the  swans  sent  up  a  shout, 
and  in  another  moment  a  big  white  bird  (and  big 
enough  he  looked)  came  slanting  down  from 
the  sky,  and  splashed  into  the  water.  The  one 
that  had  sounded  the  signal  swam  at  once  to 
meet  him,  and  the  two  gesticulated  in  each  other's 

83 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

faces  as  if  inclined  to  quarrel,  I  thought.  Prob- 
ably I  misinterpreted  their  movements,  for  the 
newcomer  at  once  joined  the  others ;  and  now 
there  were  eight  in  the  group,  every  one  with 
his  head  behind  his  wing. 

If  the  coots  were  chatterboxes,  their  tongues 
always  wagging,  jabbering  to  themselves  if  no 
one  else  was  by,  the  swans,  I  had  by  this  time 
concluded,  were  fairly  to  be  called  sleepyheads. 
A  very  somnolent  set  they  seemed  to  be,  surely. 
"Now,  then,"  they  were  always  ready  to  say, 
**  as  long  as  that  inquisitive  old  body  won't  allow 
us  to  feed  alongshore,  why  not  go  to  sleep 
again }  "  In  that  deep  water  there  was  really  little 
else  for  them  to  do,  I  suppose,  unless  they  should 
first  acquire  the  impossible  art  of  diving. 

Some  time  later  they  woke  up,  and  had  a  fit 
of  calling.  I  looked  into  the  sky,  anticipating  a 
further  arrival ;  but  nothing  came  of  it.  Had  the 
birds  been  deceived,  or  had  the  passers  aloft  de- 
clined the  invitation  ? 

One  thing  I  am  bound  to  admit.  It  was  proved 
to  me  more  than  once.  For  detecting  the  pres- 
ence of  birds  of  their  own  kind  overhead  they  had 
some  means,  whether  of  sight  or  hearing,  that 
lay  quite  beyond  the  scope  of  my  senses. 

But,  indeed,  I  have  often  remarked  how  sur- 
prisingly quick  certain  kinds  of  birds  are  to  notice 
84 


A   VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

what  goes  on  above  their  level.  A  flock  of  cur- 
lews, for  example,  feeding,  heads  down,  upon  the 
sand,  will  discover  you  instantly  on  the  edge  of 
a  cliff  overlooking  the  beach,  say  at  an  elevation 
of  fifty  feet,  and  be  off  on  the  wing  almost  before 
you  know  it,  no  matter  how  slow  and  noiseless 
your  approach  may  have  been  ;  whereas,  had  you 
been  walking  on  the  beach  itself,  in  full  sight, 
the  chances  are  that  they  would  have  suffered 
you  to  come  moderately  close  upon  them  with- 
out betraying  any  marked  uneasiness.  It  has  be- 
come a  habit  with  them,  apparently,  to  keep  a 
sharp  lookout  upward,  perhaps  because  their  more 
usual  enemies  come  from  that  quarter. 

This,  however,  can  hardly  be  true  of  swans, 
whose  principal  apprehensions,  I  should  think, 
must  be  of  rapacious  quadrupeds.  As  for  their 
superior  sight  or  hearing,  there  is  no  sort  of  bird, 
we  may  safely  say,  but  excels  us  in  some  respect, 
clever  as  we  think  ourselves.  The  Powers  above 
have  not  put  everything  of  the  best  into  any  one 
basket.  Every  creature  has  its  own  particular 
endowment,  and  presumably,  living  for  itself,  re- 
gards itself  as  the  sum  and  centre  of  all  things. 
Mankind,  if  we  may  guess,  holds  no  monopoly, 
even  of  self-conceit. 

On  my  return  at  noon,  —  for  I  commonly  went 
two  miles  or  so  beyond  the  lake  to  the  ocean 


FIELD-DAYS  IN  CALIFORNIA 

beach,  —  I  found  the  swans  in  a  bay  or  cove, 
feeding  so  industriously  (no  sign  of  drowsiness 
now)  that  they  permitted  me  to  draw  near  enough 
to  see  plainly  the  small  loral  patch  before  men- 
tioned. It  was  as  good  as  a  visiting-card.  Hence- 
forth I  was  in  possession  of  their  full  name,  Olor 
columbiamis,  the  whistUng  swan. 

As  they  fed,  holding  their  heads  under  water 
for  a  surprisingly  long  time,  a  number  of  ducks 
collected  in  the  vicinity,  diving  directly  beside 
them,  almost  or  quite  under  them,  in  fact,  as  if 
—  what  I  doubted  not  was  true  —  the  long-necked 
creatures  were  stirring  up  the  muddy  bottom  with 
a  thoroughness  which  the  ducks  found  highly  to 
their  advantage.  "  Strange,"  says  the  note-book, 
"  how  exceedingly  small  the  ducks,  even  the  can- 
vasbacks,  look.  As  for  the  ruddies  and  buffie- 
heads,  they  look  for  all  the  world  like  ducklings 
following  their  mothers  about."  The  swans  made 
not  the  least  objection  to  the  ducks*  persistent 
and  rather  meddlesome  looking  activities  ("Help 
yourselves,  children,  help  yourselves,"  they  might 
have  been  saying),  but  now  and  then  they  in- 
dulged in  what  seemed  like  slight  fallings-out 
among  themselves. 

When  they  had  fed  thus  for  some  time,  they 
proceeded  to  bathe :  after  dinner  the  finger-bowl. 
And  a  lively  performance  it  was,  with  a  deal  of 


A   VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

noisy  splashing  as  they  threw  themselves  heavily 
and  rather  clumsily  first  on  one  side  and  then  on 
the  other.  "  They  are  bound  to  make  a  clean  job 
of  it,"  writes  the  pencil.  One  of  the  adults  (known 
for  such  by  his  clear  white  head)  made  a  particu- 
larly brave  show  in  drying  himself,  stretching  up 
to  his  full  height,  and  shaking  his  wings  and  tail 
in  a  most  vigorous  manner. 

"In  calling,"  my  note-book  records,  —  though 
I  fail  to  remember  the  pertinency  of  the  remark 
in  this  immediate  connection,  —  "they  hold  the 
head  straight  up,  and  then  at  the  moment  of  ut- 
terance raise  it  a  little  higher  still  with  a  sudden 
jerk.  Their  loud  o,?^^  sound  human." 

I  spent  the  better  part  of  an  hour  watching 
their  various  activities.  Then,  as  I  passed  a  trifle 
too  near,  they  swam  out  into  the  lake,  from  the 
middle  of  which  three  of  them  suddenly  took 
wing,  for  no  apparent  reason,  rising  to  a  consid- 
erable height  and  flying  off  toward  the  golf- 
grounds,  as  if  they  were  bound  away  for  good. 
The  others  declined  to  follow  their  lead,  how- 
ever, and  after  a  bit  the  seceders  returned,  flew 
across  the  sky  directly  before  me,  their  necks 
stretched  out  to  the  full  (looking  almost  ridicu- 
lously slender),  and  dropped  again  into  the  lake. 

Here  was  the  very  thing  I  had  been  wishing 
to  see  —  swans  in  flight.  And  I  had  seen  it  to 
^7 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

capital  advantage,  and  still  had  the  birds  with 
me.  A  lucky  fellow,  I  called  myself. 

This  was  on  the  24th  of  December.  Three 
days  later  I  was  fated  to  witness  a  far  more 
spectacular  display  of  flight  with  no  such  happy 
termination. 

But  meantime,  on  Christmas  morning,  it  pleased 
me  to  hear  a  friend  remark,  quite  independently 
of  any  suggestion  of  mine,  how  wonderfully  like 
a  fleet  of  war-vessels  the  swans  looked  as  they 
sailed  slowly  away  from  us  in  a  majestic,  well- 
spaced  line.  The  comparison,  I  saw,  had  not 
been  due  to  my  overheated  imagination.  And, 
while  we  were  admiring  their  stately  manoeuvres, 
one  of  them  suddenly  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  in 
response  to  the  call  two  birds  dropped  out  of  the 
sky,  a  sight  to  stir  the  blood  of  a  man  who  was 
beholding  wild  swans  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life. 

Well,  two  days  afterward,  as  I  just  now  began 
to  say,  I  was  at  the  lakeside  again,  and  was  dis- 
appointed to  find  the  flock  reduced  by  more  than 
half  —  four  birds  instead  of  ten.  But  I  need  not 
have  fretted,  for  this  was  to  be  by  much  my  most 
interesting  day.  Within  half  an  hour,  one  thing 
after  another  having  detained  me,  I  heard  a 
volley  of  loud  trumpetings  over  head,  quickly 
answered  from  below;  and  looking  up  I  be- 
88 


A   VISITATION    OF   SWANS 

held  a  wonderful,  never-to-be-forgotten  sight,  a 
flock  of  snow-white  swans  (twenty-four  in  num- 
ber, as  the  count  showed)  already  scaling  down- 
ward, headed  for  the  lake.  Down  they  came,  little 
by  little,  wings  sharply  set,  necks  curved  upward 
and  backward,  by  way  of  slackening  the  descent, 
as  I  judged,  and  the  big  black  feet  sprawling  out 
in  front,  ready  for  the  water.  Four  of  the  birds 
took  it  at  once,  but  the  rest  acted  as  if  they 
would  go  farther.  Then  the  eight  swimmers  set 
up  an  appealing  chorus  :  "  Come  in  !  O  come  in ! " 
whereupon  the  twenty  turned,  and  in  half  a  min- 
ute or  less  the  twenty-eight  birds  were  all  in  the 
water  in  a  close  bunch. 

For  a  little  while  there  was  a  great  commotion 
("a  great  hullabaloo  "  the  note-book  has  it,  a  pen- 
cil being  always  under  less  restraint  in  its  use 
of  the  vernacular  than  a  pen  quite  ventures  to 
be),  but  in  a  few  minutes  everything  was  quiet 
again,  and  every  bird's  head  hidden  under  its 
wing.  Half  an  hour  later  three  others  were  toled 
down  into  the  sleeping  circle. 

*'  O  rest  ye,  brother  mariners ;  we  will  not  wander  more." 

And  now  we  had  thirty-one!  It  was  fortune  to 
turn  a  man's  head ;  but,  as  it  seemed,  it  was  too 
good  to  last. 

Within  ten  minutes  two  men,  who  had  secured 
89 


FIELD-DAYS    IN   CALIFORNIA 

a  license  to  fish  in  the  lake,  pushed  out  a  boat ; 
and  instantly  the  air  swarmed  with  ducks,  a  thou- 
sand or  two,  and  in  another  moment  the  swans 
gave  cry,  and  soon  every  bird  of  them  was  on 
the  wing. 

Would  they  turn  and  light  again  ?  No,  this 
time  they  were  thoroughly  frightened ;  and  in  a 
long  line,  not  in  Indian  file,  as  they  commonly 
moved  when  swimming,  but  side  by  side,  they 
rose  over  the  low,  rounded,  grassy  hill  opposite 
me  (a  sight  surpassing  all  imagination,  the  sun 
shining  full  on  all  those  snow-white  wings),  and 
in  a  few  seconds  were  out  of  sight.  The  lake, 
which  had  been  covered  with  birds  a  minute  or 
two  before,  was  now,  except  for  a  few  hundred 
coots,  all  but  deserted. 

Needless  to  say  what  my  feelings  were  toward 
those  miserable  fishermen,  who  trolled  heedlessly 
along  the  shore,  and  to  my  heartfelt  delight 
caught  nothing. 

The  one  pleasant  feature  of  the  case  was  that 
the  superintendent  of  the  ranch  shared  my  sen- 
timents to  the  full,  and  declared  that  no  more 
fishing-permits  should  be  granted  to  anybody  as 
long  as  the  bird  season  lasted.  Indeed,  the  swans 
had  been  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  the 
place,  the  more  so  as  no  one  could  remember 
having  seen  them  there  before. 
90 


A   VISITATION   OF   SWANS 

How  general  the  interest  in  the  matter  had 
become  was  to  be  shown  me  amusingly  two  days 
afterward.  I  had  gone  home  dejected,  and  yet 
elated.  I  had  witnessed  a  far  more  beautiful 
flight  of  birds  than  I  had  ever  dreamed  of  (a  flight 
of  angels  could  hardly  have  surpassed  it  in  my 
imagination),  but  now  all  was  over.  So  I  thought. 
But  two  mornings  later,  as  I  was  trudging  ''out 
to  the  ranch  over  a  muddy  road,  a  man  whom  I 
did  not  recognize  leaned  out  of  his  buggy  as  we 
met,  and  shouted  after  me,  ''  The  swans  have 
come  back."  And  so  they  had,  but  five  instead 
of  thirty-one. 

"  I  am  hanging  about,"  I  wrote  in  my  note- 
book an  hour  afterward,  "  to  see  if  more  will  be 
called  down.  The  swans  are  growing  tame.  They 
no  longer  retreat  to  the  middle  of  the  lake  every 
time  the  ducks  raise  an  alarm.  Two  are  now  in 
their  usual  cove  fast  asleep  on  one  leg  in  a  few 
inches  of  water,  while  the  others  are  exploring 
the  shore  in  front  of  the  engine-house.  A  casual 
passer-by  would  take  them  for  domesticated 
birds  without  a  second  look." 

Not  to  prolong  the  story,  be  it  said  that  the 
swans  remained  in  varying  numbers  (from  two 
to  twelve  being  always  present)  until  January  29. 
Their  stay  had  covered  almost  five  weeks.  Then 
the  last  of  them  started,  we  may  suppose,  on 
91 


FIELD-DAYS   IN    CALIFORNIA 

their  long  journey  towards  those  far-away  north- 
ern regions  to  which  so  large  a  proportion  of  our 
water-birds  betake  themselves  as  spring  returns. 
There,  for  aught  I  know,  our  sleepyheads  may 
have  contracted  their  habit  of  midday  somno- 
lence ;  for  so  long  as  they  are  there,  I  suppose, 
the  sun  never  once  goes  down. 

The  next  season  a  single  swan  made  its  ap- 
pearance at  the  lake  on  December  4,  and  re- 
mained all  by  himself  in  perfect  contentment,  as 
far  as  any  of  us  could  j  udge,  till  January  4.  In 
that  time  he  had  seemed  to  become  almost  a 
part  of  the  place,  and  the  men  in  charge,  who  fed 
him  from  the  first,  began  to  look  upon  him  as 
settled  with  them  for  life.  But  either  he  fell  a 
a  victim  to  some  fox  or  coyote,  a  not  unlikely 
fate,  or  he  heard  a  call,  inward  or  outward,  which 
he  could  not  resist,  and  we  saw  him  no  more. 
Since  then,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  no 
swan  has  been  seen  in  Laguna  Blanca. 


MY  FIRST   CONDOR 

NO  ornithologist,  of  whatever  grade,  ever  came 
to  California  without  hopes  of  seeing  the 
great  California  vulture,  otherwise  known  as 
the  condor.  It  is  worth  seeing  because  it  is  the 
largest  bird  in  North  America,  not  to  say  the 
world,  and  because,  if  not  rare,  it  is  at  least 
rarely  met  with.  We  all  love  to  do  what  our 
neighbors  and  rivals  have  never  succeeded  in 
accompHshing.  Difficulty  and  scarcity  go  far  to 
set  the  price  in  all  markets. 

So  it  was  that  from  the  day  I  reached  the 
Pacific  coast  I  kept  my  eyes  wide  open  for  a 
condor.  I  knew,  of  course,  from  reading,  that  it 
was  supposed  to  be  found  only  among  the 
higher  mountains;  but  then,  I  said  to  myself,  for 
a  creature  with  wings  high  mountains  are  never 
far  away  hereabout,  and  the  bird  might  by  some 
chance  be  passing  overhead  almost  anywhere.^ 
If  he  were  at  all  like  other  Westerners,  I  reasoned, 
he  couldn't  be  contented  to  stay  in  the  same 
place   very   long   at  once  ;  and  anyhow,  there 

*  Three  times,  since  this  sketch  was  written,  I  have  seen 
(at  Santa  Barbara)  a  condor  near  sea-level,  but  mountains  were 
always  within  a  few  miles. 

93 


FIELD-DAYS    IN   CALIFORNIA 

could  be  no  harm  in  now  and  then  casting  a 
glance  heavenward. 

After  three  weeks  at  San  Diego  (and  a  pleasant 
three  weeks  they  were,  in  a  world  as  new  as  Eden 
was  to  Adam),  I  made  a  trip  to  Witch  Creek, 
a  hamlet  among  the  mountains,  advised  to  that 
course  by  a  famous  local  ornithologist.  He 
promised  me  no  condor ;  I  think  the  matter  was 
not  mentioned  between  us  ;  but  he  assured  me 
that  I  should  find  a  totally  different  set  of  birds 
there  from  what  I  had  been  seeing  at  San  Diego. 
The  expression  proved  to  be  a  shade  (a  rather 
dark  shade)  too  strong ;  the  weather,  too,  was 
of  the  worst  and  the  housing  bad  ;  but  I  found 
a  few  new  things,  and,  what  with  the  beauty 
of  the  mountains  and  the  mountain  valleys,  — 
and  the  magnificent  oaks,  —  I  felt  (after  I  got 
away)  amply  repaid  for  my  time  and  labor. 

In  such  a  place  it  seemed  in  order  to  look 
skyward  more  frequently  than  ever  ;  but  a  pro- 
fessional bird-collector,  who  for  several  years 
had  knocked  about  this  Western  world  in  the 
pursuit  of  his  interesting,  but,  I  should  think, 
rather  disagreeable,  calling  (I  was  glad  to  hear 
him  say  that  no  matter  how  badly  he  wanted  a 
bird,  he  could  never  shoot  it  if  it  struck  up  to 
sing),  when  I  mentioned  my  great  desire  to  see 
a  condor,  responded,  *'  Oh,  doubtless ;  I  should 
94 


MY   FIRST   CONDOR 

like  to  see  one  myself."  Dear  me  !  I  thought,  is 
it  so  bad  as  that  ?  You  might  as  well  be  looking 
for  the  dodo,  his  tone  seemed  to  imply.  But  anon 
hope  sprang  up  again.  Such  birds  there  are,  I 
said  to  myself,  and  men  have  seen  them.  And 
why  not  I?  So  I  continued  to  look  heavenward. 
But  the  result  justified  the  collector's  word.  A 
good  man  he  was,  a  Boston  man,  and  did  me 
many  a  favor.  Probably  the  mountains  were  not 
sufficiently  high  and  inaccessible  to  suit  the 
condor's  purpose. 

Then  I  returned  to  San  Diego,  and  moved 
northward  to  Pasadena.  Here,  if  anywhere,  my 
desire  might  possibly  be  gratified.  My  window 
looked  into  the  Sierra  Madre  Mountains  ;  Mount 
Lowe,  some  six  thousand  feet  high,  was  the 
nearest  of  them  ;  I  would  go  to  its  top  and  gaze 
about  me. 

So  said,  so  done.  The  way  was  made  easy.  A 
street-car  took  me  from  the  hotel  door  to  Rubio 
Cafion ;  thence  a  cable-car  lifted  me  almost 
straight  upward  to  the  top  of  Echo  Mountain,  so 
called,  a  spur  of  Mount  Lowe,  and  there  an  ordi- 
nary open  trolley-car  was  waiting  to  convey  me 
to  the  Alpine  Tavern,  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain cone.  A  marvelous  ride  that  was  in  the 
trolley-car,  over  a  road  hung  against  the  precipi- 
tous side  of  the  mountain,  with  numberless  sharp 
95 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

curves  and  crazy  bridges,  while  I  from  my  end 
seat  (which,  for  some  reason,  there  was  no  need 
to  scramble  for)  looked  down,  down,  down  into 
the  ravines  below. 

A  mile  or  two  before  reaching  the  tavern  the 
road  ran  into  a  forest  of  spruces — the  big-cone 
spruce,  I  was  told  afterward.  A  promising  wood 
for  woodpeckers,  thought  I ;  and,  when  the  car 
stopped,  I  started  instantly  for  the  summit.  I 
wished  to  be  first  on  the  trail  for  the  sake  of  the 
birds  —  woodpeckers  or  what-not  — that  any  one 
who  should  precede  me  might  frighten  out  of 
sight. 

I  need  not  have  hurried  myself.  There  were 
no  birds  to  be  frightened  :  a  few  California  jays, 
by  this  time  an  old  story ;  one  or  two  plain  tit- 
mice ;  and  perhaps  two  or  three  other  things 
(spurred  towhees,  as  I  now  remember)  ;  and 
even  these  not  in  the  spruce  woods  or  the  oaks, 
but  about  the  open  summit,  where  it  was  plain 
they  had  grown  accustomed  to  regale  themselves 
on  picnickers'  leavings.  As  for  the  condor,  I 
looked  and  looked,  but  might  have  been  in  the 
mountains  of  New  Hampshire  for  all  the  good 
that  came  of  it.  On  the  way  down,  to  be  sure, 
a  large  bird  was  seen  soaring  high  in  air ;  but,  as 
well  as  I  could  make  out,  it  was  only  a  golden 
eagle. 

96 


MY   FIRST  CONDOR 

One  or  two  evenings  after  this  the  Pasadena 
ornithologist  (there  are  many  worthy  of  the 
name,  I  dare  say,  but  I  mean  the  one)  called  to 
see  me,  and  I  told  him  of  my  disappointment. 

"  What !  You  have  been  up  Mount  Lowe  al- 
ready ?  "  he  exclaimed,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Well, 
well,  you  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your 
feet,  do  you  ?  " 

Then  he  expressed  surprise  that  I  had  missed 
the  condor.  That  was  a  new  and  welcome  note, 
the  very  first  syllable  of  encouragement  that  I 
had  heard  under  this  head  since  setting  foot 
in  California;  and  I  determined  straightway, 
though  I  said  nothing,  to  have  that  trip  over 
again. 

Five  days  passed  ;  for,  though  the  condor  is 
the  largest  bird  in  California,  he  is  by  no  means 
the  only  one.  Then,  on  the  last  day  of  January, 
I  was  again  trudging  up  the  cone  of  Mount 
Lowe,  when  suddenly,  as  I  faced  about  and 
looked  upward  for  the  hundredth  time,  there  was 
my  bird  sailing  through  the  air.  It  was  he,  the 
condor  himself ;  for  on  the  instant,  even  before  I 
had  time  to  put  my  glass  upon  him,  I  saw  the 
unmistakable  marks,  the  snow-white  lower  wing- 
coverts  and  the  yellow  head  and  neck.  Far,  far  up 
he  was,  moving  in  a  straight  course,  with  wings 
set. 

97 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

I  looked,  and  looked,  and  looked  again  ;  and 
then,  unable  to  contain  myself,  I  turned  to  a 
lady  and  gentleman  who  were  following  me  up 
the  trail. 

"  There ! "  said  I,  "  if  you  wish  to  see  the 
largest  bird  in  North  America,  there  he  is." 

They  were  not  half  so  much  excited  as  I 
thought  they  ought  to  be. 

"It  isn't  larger  than  an  eagle,  is  it?"  said 
the  gentleman,  after  inquiring  its  name. 

He  had  seen  a  bald  eagle  at  Catalina  Island 
a  day  or  two  before,  and  seemed  to  have  gathered 
that,  in  the  line  of  large  birds,  the  world  had  no- 
thing more  to  offer. 

I  assured  him  that  the  bald  eagle  was  nowhere 
in  comparison  (the  condor  is  really  only  half  as 
large  again  as  the  eagle,  but,  you  see,  I  was 
feeling  enthusiastic),  and  rather  indifferently,  as  I 
thought,  he  gave  it  another  look.  He  was  not  what 
we  call  a  ''bird  man,"  that  was  evident ;  and  by 
and  by,  when  the  vulture  had  passed  out  of 
sight  beyond  Mount  Wilson,  he  informed  me 
that  his  hobby  was  astronomy.  I  was  pleased  to 
know  he  had  so  good  a  one ;  but,  for  myself,  at  that 
moment  I  was  amazingly  contented  with  my  own. 
It  was  wonderful  how  easy  the  grade  was  from 
that  point.  Such  is  the  power  of  mind  over  mat- 
ter. I  could  have  gone  on  indefinitely,  and  never 

98 


MY   FIRST   CONDOR 

known  I  was  weary.  If  there  had  been  nobody 
near,  I  believe  I  should  have  shouted. 

For  the  hour  or  more  that  I  remained  at  the 
summit  I  took  two  looks  heavenward  to  one  at 
the  earthly  prospect,  beautiful  as  that  was ;  and 
all  the  way  down  to  the  tavern  I  was  continually 
stopping  to  see  whether  peradventure  the  vulture 
might  not  be  again  somewhere  above  me.  That, 
I  was  to  learn,  was  asking  a  little  too  much  of 
Dame  Fortune.  Already  I  had  received  far  more 
than  my  share  of  her  favors,  as  the  ornithologist 
before  mentioned  gave  me  emphatically  to  under- 
stand when  I  narrated  to  him  my  day's  adventure. 
Many  a  good  Californian,  I  understood  him,  had 
desired  to  see  what  I  had  seen,  and  had  died 
without  the  sight. 

Within  a  week,  indeed,  I  was  to  have  another 
and  much  longer  and  more  satisfying  interview 
with  the  same  bird,  or  another  like  him  ;  but  that 
is  part  of  another  story.  Enough  to  say  now  that 
he  looked  half  as  large  again  the  second  time  as 
he  did  the  first,  and  that  I  am  more  than  ever  a 
believer  in  that  mysterious  and  delectable  some- 
thing which  goes  by  the  name  of  "  green  hands' 
luck." 


MY  FIRST  WATER-OUZELS 

THERE  is  no  California  bird,  not  even  the 
big  vulture,  that  I  have  been  more  insistent 
upon  seeing  than  the  water-ouzel.  There  is  none 
to  which  so  romantic  an  interest  attaches.  And 
it  may  be  added  that  there  is  none  which  has 
cost  me  so  many  steps. 

It  is  a  bird  of  mountain  canons ;  not  of  their 
precipitous  rocky  sides,  like  the  canon  wren,  but 
of  their  hurrying  brooks,  and  especially  of  their 
waterfalls.  Technically,  as  men  take  account  of 
such  things,  it  is  a  land-bird,  as  under  the  same 
ruling  the  snipe  and  the  woodcock  are  water- 
birds.  But  the  bird  does  not  know  it.  Where 
there  is  no  water,  look  for  no  ouzel.  As  well 
seek  the  kingfisher,  another  "land-bird,"  on  the 
desert,  or  the  hummingbird  where  there  are  no 
blossoms. 

There  were  canons  at  San  Diego,  but  no  moun- 
tain canons  ;  and  there  were  mountains  at  Witch 
Creek,  but  no  wild  mountain  brooks ;  so  it  was 
not  until  I  reached  Pasadena  that  I  began  to  cast 
about  in  earnest  for  the  home  of  the  ouzel. 

Three  canons  were  named  to  me ;  all  rather 
far  removed,  but,  the  inducement  being  weighed, 

100 


MY   FIRST   WATER-OUZELS 

not  too  far.  In  so  important  a  cause  I  was  ready 
to  sacrifice  any  reasonable  amount  of  shoe-leather. 

First,  although  this  was  an  accident,  due  to 
insufficient,  or  insufficiently  understood,  direc- 
tions, I  tried  the  nearest  and  smallest.  It  was  a 
pretty  place,  with  something  of  a  brook ;  but  it 
seemed  to  be  much  frequented  by  picnickers, 
and  perhaps  was  not  secluded  enough  for  the 
hermit^  I  was  seeking.  Be  that  as  it  might,  I  did 
not  find  him. 

Then  I  tried  a  second  and  larger  canon,  two 
miles  or  more  beyond,  a  distance  which  I  in- 
creased m.aterially  by  mistaking  my  course,  stum- 
bling into  the  arroyo  too  far  down,  and  blundering 
about  among  the  boulders  a  long  while  before 
striking  the  trail,  so  making  a  long  and  tiresome 
day  of  what  should  have  been  a  comparatively 
short  and  easy  one.  And  after  all,  though  I  sat 
for  some  time  within  sight  of  the  cascade  which 
had  been  my  goal,  I  found  no  sign  that  any 
water-ouzel  had  ever  been  there.    But  for  a  soli- 

^  On  further  acquaintance  I  should  hardly  call  the  ouzel  a 
hermit,  nor  does  he  confine  himself  to  mountain  brooks.  At 
Sisson  I  found  him  more  than  once  singing  from  a  boat  drawn 
up  on  the  bank  of  a  small  roadside  lake;  and  at  Banff  and  in 
the  Yosemite,  as  well  as  in  the  Ute  Pass  at  Manitou,  I  have 
seen  him  perfectly  at  home  where  men  on  foot  and  in  car- 
riages were  continually  passing  close  by  him,  or  over  his  head. 
There  are  few  birds,  indeed,  that  seem  less  put  out  by  human 
propinquity. 

lOI 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

taire,  a  most  distinguished,  aristocratic-seeming 
bird,  always  good  to  look  at  (this  was  only  my 
second  one),  and  a  fretful  canon  wren,  the  day 
would  have  been  ornithologically  a  waste. 

A  second  visit  to  the  same  canon  was  equally 
unproductive,  except  that  I  took  great  interest 
in  hearing  for  the  first  time  the  song  of  the  West- 
ern robin.  A  large  flock  of  the  birds,  a  hundred 
or  more,  sat  in  a  group  of  tall  sycamores  in  the 
arroyo  (the  dry,  rocky,  gravelly,  flood-wrought 
river-bed  which  leads  into  —  or  out  of  —  every 
such  ravine  in  this  summer-dry  Southwestern 
country),  and  one  or  two  among  them  were  in 
free  voice.  Their  calls  I  had  previously  found  to 
be  indistinguishable  from  those  of  their  Eastern 
relative.  Now  I  learned,  what  I  had  found  no 
book  to  tell  me,  that  the  same  is  true  of  the  song 
itself.  If  I  had  heard  it  in  Massachusetts,  I  should 
have  remarked  nothing  peculiar  about  it. 

The  next  morning,  having  been  at  all  pains  to 
obtain  particular  instructions,  I  set  out  for  the 
third  canon,  a  last  resort,  a  case  of  now  or  never, 
so  far  as  the  neighborhood  of  Pasadena  was  con- 
cerned. By  a  stroke  of  good  fortune,  when  I  had 
left  the  street-car  and  trudged  across  lots  to  the 
<* avenue"  that  I  had  been  instructed  to  follow, 
• —  an  avenue  running  between  orange  groves  and 
vineyards,  and  shaded  by  pepper-trees,  —  I  was 

102 


MY   FIRST   WATER-OUZELS 

presently  overtaken  by  a  heavy  wagon  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  mules,  the  young  driver  of  which  invited 
me  to  ride. 

"Thank  you,"  said  I,  and  clambered  up  into 
the  lofty  seat  beside  him.  "  I  am  going  into  the 
caiion,"  I  said. 

*' Just  where  I  am  going,"  he  answered. 

He  was  hauling  stone  out  of  the  arroyo,  it 
seemed.  So  this  time  I  not  only  had  made  sure 
of  my  course,  but  was  spared  a  mile  or  two  of 
walking. 

The  canon  proved  to  be  a  romantic,  closely 
walled  place,  narrowly  tucked  in  between  two 
contiguous  mountains,  each  about  six  thousand 
feet  high,  and  made  alive,  as  it  were,  by  the  clear- 
est of  mountain  brooks,  while  the  deliciously 
sweet  falling  whistle  of  a  canon  wren  seemed  to 
bid  me  welcome  as  I  entered.  Yes,  said  I,  this  is 
the  place,  and  this  is  the  day ;  and  now  for  the 
water-ouzels ! 

Up  the  brook  I  went,  first  on  this  side  for  a 
few  rods,  then  on  the  other  for  a  like  distance, 
as  the  water  left  room  for  me  against  the  base  of 
the  cliff,  till  by  and  by  I  came  to  the  falls,  which, 
for  any  but  initiated  or  decidedly  resolute  ex- 
plorers, must  be  accepted  as  the  head  of  the 
canon.  For  myself,  and  for  to-day,  at  all  events, 
there  was  no  thought  of  proceeding  farther.  And 
103 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

within  five  minutes  I  saw  that  to-day's  quest, 
like  the  others,  was  to  end  in  failure.  The  falls, 
some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in  height,  and  the 
inviting  pool  of  still  water  below,  seemed  to  be 
all  that  the  most  fastidious  ouzel  could  ask  for ; 
but  the  ouzel  was  not  there. 

I  was  nearly  discouraged,  but  hope  revived 
overnight,  as  it  so  often  does  (this  is  partly  what 
nights  are  for) ;  and  in  the  morning  I  said,  "  I 
will  try  that  place  again." 

That  was  one  of  my  good  sayings.  Socrates, 
in  the  same  case,  could  n't  have  done  better.  I 
had  gone  perhaps  halfway  to  the  falls  when  I  was 
startled  by  a  rattle  of  loud,  sharp  cries,  which 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  bed  of  the  brook  in 
front ;  and  two  birds  (I  could  not  remember  a 
minute  afterward  whether  I  had  seen  them  or 
only  heard  them)  went  flying  round  the  next  turn 
up  the  stream.  I  stole  hurriedly  along,  over  bould- 
ers and  what-not ;  and  soon  the  same  piercing 
calls  were  repeated.  This  time  I  saw  nothing; 
but  I  understood  now  that  I  had  only  one  chance 
left.  If  I  was  to  overtake  the  birds  again,  it  must 
be  at  the  fall.  Once  above  that,  they  would  be 
lost. 

Quietly  —  as  quietly  as  possible,  the  going  be- 
ing what  it  was —  I  hastened  forward  till  at  last 
I  had  gone  as  far  as  I  dared.  If  a  side  approach 
104 


MY   FIRST   WATER-OUZELS 

had  been  possible,  the  thing  might  have  been 
easy;  but  the  perpendicular  walls  shut  me  in, 
and  I  could  do  nothing  but  follow  the  brook. 
Then,  with  my  glass  focused  upon  the  pool  and 
the  cascade  above  it,  I  waited.  No  sight,  no 
sound.  Hope  was  fading  out,  when  a  bird  called. 
My  eye  followed  the  sound ;  and  there,  on  the 
face  of  the  cliff,  wet  by  the  spray  of  the  falling 
water,  stood  the  small,  dusky  creature  that  I  had 
spent  so  many  hours  in  seeking.  Up  and  down 
he  bobbed,  wren  fashion,  on  his  light-colored 
legs,  at  every  motion  uttering  a  note  of  com- 
plaint ;  and  then  he  took  wing,  flew  up  the  fall 
and  through  the  narrow  opening  above  it,  and 
was  gone. 

I  lingered  about  the  spot,  keeping  as  much  in 
shadow  as  might  be,  —  the  opportunity  being  of 
the  poorest,  —  and  even  went  back  again  and 
again  after  quitting  the  place  altogether,  in  hope 
that  the  birds  might  have  returned  ;  but  they  had 
gone  upstream  for  the  day.  It  was  too  bad !  So 
short  a  look  after  so  long  a  hunt !  But,  anyhow, 
I  had  seen  them.  And  who  could  tell .-'  There 
would  be  another  day  to-morrow,  and  possibly  I 
should  then  have  better  luck.  So  I  munched  my 
crackers  and  chocolate,  and  started  for  the  last 
time  downstream. 

All  this  while,  I  should  have  said,  I  had  been 
105 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

casting  frequent  glances  skyward  in  search  of  the 
California  condor.  Unless  it  were  the  mountain- 
top,  there  could  be  no  place  where  my  chance  of 
seeing  him  should  be  better.  And  sure  enough, 
while  I  was  still  shut  between  the  rocky  walls,  I 
looked  up  once  more  ;  and  there  he  hung,  in  mid- 
air, a  mile  or  so,  it  might  be,  overhead.  Twice 
he  turned  in  such  a  way  that  the  sunlight  shone 
full  upon  the  under  surface  of  his  wings,  lighting 
up  the  white  coverts.  It  was  he,  my  second  sight 
of  him.  And  this  time  how  big  he  looked  ! 

He  disappeared  all  too  quickly,  but  within  fif- 
teen minutes,  when  I  had  sat  down  in  a  little 
wider  space  to  rest,  with  more  sky-room  overhead, 
I  beheld  him  again.  Now,  by  good  luck,  he  was 
soaring  in  circles,  and  remained  in  sight  a  long 
while;  and  as  often  as  he  came  about,  those  snow- 
white  patches  were  illuminated.  Higher  and 
higher  he  rose,  till  if  I  lowered  my  glass  I  had 
hard  work  to  find  him  again  ;  and  the  greater  the 
height,  so  it  seemed,  the  larger  he  looked.  Like 
Niagara  and  other  such  wonders,  he  was  growing 
upon  me. 

I  lost  him  at  last,  and  had  gone  a  good  piece 
farther,  when  the  same  bird,  or  possibly  another, 
came  into  sight  once  more,  this  time  moving  in 
a  straight  course  with  wings  set.  Half  a  mile,  at 
least,  I  must  have  watched  him  fly  without  a 
io6 


MY   FIRST   WATER-OUZELS 

stroke,  till  he  disappeared  over  the  eastern  wall  of 
the  canon.  "  Well,  well,"  said  I,  "this  is  my  lucky 
day." 

A  few  rods  more,  and  I  was  out  of  the  canon, 
away  from  the  noise  of  the  brook,  in  the  dry,' 
boulder-sprinkled  bed  of  the  arroyo.   Here  I  dal- 
lied along,  having  still  a  considerable  part  of  the 
afternoon  before  me,  noticing  a  pair  of  scolding 
vireos  (Hutton's),  and  the  bright,  orange-colored, 
heavy-scented  clusters  of  wallflower  (a  kind  of 
maidenhair  fern  was  common,  also),  when  all  at 
once  I  descried  a  pair  of  large  birds  soaring  not 
far  off.  I  lifted  my  glass ;  and  behold,  they  were 
golden  eagles.  And  a  splendid  chance  they  gave 
me,  being  at  first  extraordinarily  near  (for  eagles), 
and  then  rising  in  circles  as  the  condor  had  done. 
Sometimes  the  two  were  within  the  field  of  the 
glass  at  once.  For  a  while  they  seemed  to  feel  a 
lively  curiosity  about  me,  or  about  something  in 
my  neighborhood,  craning  their  necks  to  look 
downward,  and  so  displaying  again  and  again  the 
golden  brown  of  their  foreheads.    Wonderfully 
athletic-looking  birds  they  were,  with  that  firm, 
immovable  set  of  the  outspread  wings  —  like  the 
condor  in  that  respect,  and  very  unlike  the  tur- 
key vulture,  whose  tilting,  unstable-seeming  flight 
identifies  him  from  afar. 

And  now  what  next.?  I  thought.  But  that  was 
107 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

the  end.  And  for  one  day  it  was  enough.  "  My 
lucky  day,"  I  called  it.  And  so  it  was  ;  for  on  the 
morrow,  hoping  to  duplicate  the  experience,  at 
least  in  part,  I  visited  the  same  canon  again ;  and 
lo,  there  was  neither  ouzel  nor  condor,  nor  so 
much  as  an  eagle.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to 
do  but  to  enjoy  the  canon  itself,  with  the  flowers 
and  the  ferns,  and  to  ruminate  upon  my  good  for- 
tune of  the  day  before.  "  If  you  would  see  things," 
I  said,  "  you  must  be  willing  to  go  and  go,  and  go 
again,  and  be  thankful  for  what  is  shown  you."  All 
things  come  to  him  who  keeps  going.  I  should 
never  have  seen  the  ouzels  if  I  had  sat  on  my 
doorstep  and  whistled  for  them. 

Just  a  week  afterward,  let  it  be  added,  for  the 
sake  of  finishing  the  story,  I  went  to  the  same 
canon  once  more.  A  special  breakfast  had  been 
ordered  the  night  previous  ;  for  this  time,  if  the 
thing  were  possible,  I  meant  to  be  on  hand  so 
early  that  nobody  should  have  preceded  me  on 
the  canon  trail.  That,  I  considered,  was  my  only 
chance  of  success. 

Well,  I  reached  the  entrance  in  excellent  sea- 
son and  in  high  spirits,  but  just  as  I  was  pre- 
paring to  put  my  superfluous  umbrella  (little 
shade)  into  hiding  a  stranger^s  voice  made  itself 
heard  from  the  bank  immediately  over  my  head. 
"  Is  this  Eaton  Canon  ?  "  it  inquired.  I  answered 
io8 


MY   FIRST   WATER-OUZELS 

that  it  was.  "  It  is  a  pretty  place,"  the  stranger 
said  ;  "I've  just  been  up  to  the  head  of  it. "''it 
was  well  he  could  not  read  my  feelings  at  that 
moment.  I  have  seldom  hated  a  man  so  cordially. 
"  All  this  trouble  for  nothing  !  "  I  thought,  and 
my  spirits  dropped  to  zero  in  no  time. 

Nevertheless,  having  got  rid  of  my  questioner 
as  quickly  as  the  briefest  touch  of  politeness 
would  permit,  I  followed  the  trail  up  to  the  falls. 
No  ouzel,  of  course.  I  waited  and  waited,  and  at 
last  gave  over  the  search,  comforting  myself  as 
best  I  could  with  the  thought  that  possibly  I 
might  even  yet  have  sight  of  a  condor.  No 
loafer  of  a  tourist  could  have  frightened  him 
away.  I  loitered  and  looked,  now  standing,  now 
strolling,  now  seated  at  my  luncheon  ;  but  con- 
dors were  as  scarce  as  water-ouzels,  and  by  and 
by  I  started  homeward.  That  plague  of  an  over- 
punctual  man,  who  had  no  business  in  the  canon 
beyond  an  idle  curiosity,  had  ruined  my  day. 

But  then,  at  the  last  minute,  some  influence 
brought  me  to  a  better  mind.  "  I  '11  give  myself 
one  more  chance,"  I  said;  "probably  I  shall 
never  be  here  again."  And  with  that  I  took  off 
my  coat,  and  trudged  once  more  up  the  trail.  It 
was  the  old  story  till  I  came  within  sight  of  the 
falls.  Then  the  now  familiar  notes  were  sounded, 
and  in  a  moment  my  glass  was  on  the  birds. 
109 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

There  they  stood,  each  on  a  boulder,  gesticulat- 
ing and  scolding,  and  to  my  delight  one  of  them 
presently  dropped  into  the  pool  and  swam  across 
it.  And  now  my  attention  was  caught  by  the 
fact  that  every  time  either  of  them  bobbed  up 
and  down  he  winked !  For  an  instant  his  dark 
eye  flashed  white  ! 

The  effect  was  weird,  I  may  truly  say  comical. 
A  most  extraordinary  trick  it  surely  seemed,  the 
reason  or  motive  of  which  I  must  leave  for  others 
to  conjecture.  For  myself,  I  do  not  wonder  that 
John  Muir,  in  his  prose  poem  upon  the  water- 
ouzel,  one  of  the  most  supremely  beautiful  chap- 
ters ever  written  about  any  bird,  makes  no 
allusion  to  this  habit.  It  would  have  been  a  jar- 
ring note.  I  looked  and  laughed,  till  at  length  the 
birds  flew  to  the  cascade  wall,  stood  there  for  a 
minute  or  two  side  by  side,  still  bobbing  and 
winking,  and  then  vanished  upstream. 

Probably  I  shall  never  have  a  nearer  sight  of 
them  or  of  any  like  them.  But  how  close  I  had 
come  to  missing  my  opportunity!  And  how 
many  good  things  we  must  all  have  missed  at 
one  time  and  another,  for  lack  of  the  one  more 
trial  that  would  have  paid  us  thrice  over  for  all 
our  pains ! 


AN   UNSUCCESSFUL   HUNT 

I  REACHED  Paso  Robles  toward  evening, 
after  a  nine-hour  ride  along  the  coast  from 
Los  Angeles.  One  of  the  first  things  to  be  done, 
after  getting  a  bit  settled,  was  to  inquire  of  the 
hotel  clerk  whether  there  was  any  one  in  the 
town  who  might  be  supposed  to  know  something 
about  the  birds  of  the  neighborhood  ;  not  game 
birds  necessarily,  I  explained,  but  birds  in  gen- 
eral. He  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment ;  then 
he  rang  for  Victor,  one  of  the  bell-boys. 

Yes,  the  boy  said,  there  was  a  man  named 
Smith,  who  kept  a  bicycle-shop  and  a  garage. 
He  took  hunters  out,  and  might  be  able  to  give 
me  some  information. 

To  Mr.  Smith  I  went,  therefore,  the  next  morn- 
ing. Did  he  know  where  I  might  possibly  find 
any  band-tailed  pigeons  or  yellow-billed  mag- 
pies ?  His  answer  was  less  discouraging  than  I 
had  feared  it  would  be.  The  pigeons,  he  thought, 
mz£-/ii  be  found  up  by  the  Sand  Spring.  And  the 
Sand  Spring  ?  Why,  that  was  about  five  miles 
out,  on  the  road  to  a  certain  mine.  I  might  go 
out  on  the  stage,  and  walk  back.  As  for  magpies, 
he  had  n't  seen  one  for  several  years. 
Ill 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

At  that  moment,  however,  he  hailed  a  neigh- 
bor passing  along  the  sidewalk.  "  I  say,"  he  said, 
*'  do  you  know  any  place  where  this  man  could 
see  magpies  ?  Would  n't  he  be  likely  to  find 
some  down  at  Santa  Margarita  ?  "  The  neighbor 
thought  it  doubtful.  He  had  n't  known  of  any 
there  for  some  time.  After  further  conference 
they  agreed  that  my  best  chance  was  over  at  So- 
and-So's  sheep-ranch,  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles 
away.  But,  indeed,  they  concluded,  there  might 
be  some  near  the  Sand  Spring. 

"■  Very  good,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  I  will  try  the 
Sand  Spring."  The  stage,  Victor  informed  me, 
left  the  town  at  seven  o'clock,  at  which  hour  I 
should  be  just  sitting  down  to  early  breakfast. 
All  things  considered,  I  would  walk.  Unlike  a 
good  part  of  the  visitors  at  Paso  Robles,  I  was 
not  seriously  rheumatic,  and  ten  miles,  for  all 
day,  would  hurt  nobody. 

With  a  bite  of  luncheon  in  my  pocket  I  started 
out  the  next  morning  (February  22)  at  half  past 
seven,  but  the  first  man  whom  I  asked  to  put  me 
on  the  Adelaide  road  proved  to  be  the  stage- 
driver  himself,  just  leaving  the  post-ofBce.  He 
was  late,  he  explained — so  many  errands,  and  so 
many  waits.  Lucky  waits,  thought  I,  as  I  mounted 
the  wagon  ;  and  after  a  few  more  errands,  includ- 
ing the  purchase  of  a  sack  of  cabbages  and  a  stop 
112 


AN   UNSUCCESSFUL   HUNT 

at  his  own  door  to  get  an  overcoat  and  a  hot  foot- 
stone  (tenderfoots  were  not  all  just  out  of  Yan- 
keeland,  it  appeared),  we  were  fairly  on  our  way. 

Pretty  soon  I  broached  the  matter  of  the  pig- 
eons. The  driver  sniffed.  I  shouldn't  find  any. 
As  for  the  distance  to  the  Sand  Spring,  it  was 
nearer  ten  miles  than  five.  In  that  case,  I  per- 
ceived, it  was  well  I  had  a  pair  of  horses  to  draw 
me.  Twenty  miles,  with  the  road  muddy  to  des- 
peration, would  have  been  more  than  so  doubtful 
a  chance  was  worth.  (But  "  twenty  miles  "  was  a 
gross  exaggeration,  if  my  legs  told  anything  like 
the  truth  on  the  return.) 

Fortunately  I  had  brought  a  light  overcoat 
along,  and,  with  a  venerable  bed-comforter 
wrapped  about  our  knees,  we  made  the  trip  in  a 
satisfactory  degree  of  comfort,  asking  and  an- 
swering questions,  and  discussing  all  sorts  of  sub- 
jects, from  Roman  Catholicism  and  almond  or- 
chards (in  lovely  bloom  along  the  roadside)  to 
gall-stones  and  appendicitis,  for  the  driver,  though 
a  cheerful  body,  seemed  inclined  to  let  his  mind 
run  upon  rather  gruesome  topics.  Some  men  are 
like  that,  it  would  be  hard  to  say  why.  Perhaps 
their  ancestors  were  butchers  or  body-snatchers, 
or  followers  of  some  similar  line  of  industry. 
After  a  while,  in  an  indifferent  tone,  I  inquired 
whether  he  knew  anything  about  magpies.  Yes  ; 
113 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

he  had  frequently  seen  them  up  at  the  Divide, 
two  or  three  miles  beyond  the  Sand  Spring. 

"  All  right,"  said  L  "  I  '11  go  on  to  the  Divide. 
No  magpies,  no  pay.'* 

He  laughed.  "  Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  guar- 
antee anything ;  but  I  've  seen  them  there." 

His  luck  had  been  better  than  his  passenger's 
was  to  prove.  I  got  out  of  the  wagon  at  the  Di- 
vide, stretched  my  legs  and  shook  myself,  and 
then  rolled  under  the  close  barbed-wire  fence, 
and  went  down  into  the  "  swale,"  which  had  been 
pointed  out  as  the  most  likely  resort  of  the  yel- 
low-bills. 

Birds  were  flitting  about  in  encouraging  num- 
bers :  robins,  bluebirds,  flickers,  slender-billed 
nuthatches,  Sierra  j uncos,  and  California  jays, 
with  others,  no  doubt,  not  now  remembered.  And 
while  I  looked  at  them,  and  listened  with  all  my 
ears  for  a  magpie's  voice,  a  pair  of  golden  eagles 
sailed  over  my  head,  and  before  long  a  red-tailed 
hawk  followed  suit.  It  was  indeed  a  birdy  spot ; 
but  for  this  morning  there  were  no  magpies,  and, 
finding  it  so,  I  started  slowly  back  over  the  road 
up  which  we  had  driven. 

The  first  four  miles  would  be  much  the  most 

interesting,  and,  the  temperature  being  by  this 

time  perfect,  I  meant  to  make  the  most  of  them. 

A  merry  heart,  an  untraveled  road,  wide  horizons, 

114 


AN   UNSUCCESSFUL   HUNT 

and  close  at  hand  pretty  things  more  than  any 
one  pair  of  eyes  could  take  account  of,  —  all  this, 
with  "  health  and  a  day,"  and  magpies  or  no  mag- 
pies, pigeons  or  no  pigeons,  a  man  might  esteem 
himself  pretty  well  off. 

Here,  now,  falling  away  from  my  feet,  was  a 
broad  steep  hillside  profusely  set  with  wild  cur- 
rant bushes  (incense  shrubs),  six  feet  or  more  in 
height,  freshly  green,  and  loaded  with  racemes 
of  fragrant  pink  blossoms.  Among  the  most  at- 
tractive shrubs  I  had  ever  seen,  whether  in  field 
or  garden,  they  seemed  to  me.  And  with  them 
were  many  **  Christmas-berry  "  bushes,  —  Cali- 
fornia holly,  —  splendid  in  yellow-green  leaf  and 
scarlet  fruit,  and  just  now  haunted  by  flocks  of 
robins.  All  along  the  roadside,  too,  stood  the  curi- 
ous **tree  poppy," — my  second  sight  of  it, — 
rather  stiff  and  homely  as  a  bush  (of  about  my 
own  height),  but  bearing  at  the  top  a  sparse  crop 
of  sun-bright  yellow  poppies. 

What  a  little  way  it  turned  out  to  be  down  to 
the  Sand  Spring  watering-trough!  I  was  there 
before  I  knew  it.  It  would  be  too  bad  if  the  re- 
maining six  or  seven  miles  should  be  of  similar 
brevity. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  trough  I  still  en- 
tertained a  faint  hope  of  coming  upon  the  big 
blue  pigeon.  A  canon  full  of  live-oaks  and  vari- 
es 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

ous  shrubs  ran  down  from  the  road,  and  I  followed 
it  for  a  short  distance.  No  pigeons.  And  my  faith 
was  so  weak,  and  my  mood  by  this  time  so  little 
ambitious,  that  I  soon  returned  to  the  road  and 
to  my  idle  sauntering.  For  to-day  it  was  enough 
to  loiter  and  breathe  and  look.  There  are  other 
things  in  the  world  besides  band-tailed  pigeons, 
said  I.^ 

And  true  to  the  word,  I  was  soon  close  upon 
a  flock  of  golden-crowned  sparrows.  They  were 
no  novelty.  I  had  seen  many  like  them.  But  these 
were  in  song ;  and  that  was  a  novelty ;  a  brief  and 
simple  tune,  making  me  think  of  the  opening 
notes  of  the  Eastern  white-throat,  but  stopping 
short  of  that  bird's  rollicking  triplets,  ending 
almost  before  it  began,  as  if  it  had  been  broken 
off  in  the  middle,  with  a  sweetly  plaintive  cadence. 
Like  the  white-throat's,  and  unlike  the  white- 
crown's,  the  tone  is  a  pure  whistle,  so  that  the 
strain  can  be  imitated,  even  at  a  first  hearing, 
well  enough  to  excite  the  birds  to  its  repetition. 
I  proved  it  on  the  spot. 

Wren-tits  were  often  near  by,  and  of  course 
the  same  was  true  of  the  plain  titmice.  The  tit- 
mice, indeed,  might  almost  have  been  called  the 

1  A  few  days  later  I  paid  a  second  visit  to  the  Spring,  this 
time  on  foot,  and  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  few  of  the 
pigeons  flitting  about  among  the  oaks. 

ii6 


AN   UNSUCCESSFUL   HUNT 

birds  of  the  day,  their  voices  were  so  continually 
in  my  ears.  Three  times,  at  least,  I  heard  what 
should  have  been  a  brand-new  bird,  and  each  time 
the  stranger  turned  out  to  be  a  plain  tit  rehears- 
ing another  tune.  At  the  best  he  is  only  an  in- 
different singer,  but  his  versatility  is  remarkable. 
He  is  one  of  the  wise  ones  who  make  the  most 
of  a  small  gift.  A  good  example  for  the  rest  of 
us.  Robins  were  in  the  air,  in  the  trees,  and 
(especially)  in  the  Christmas-berry  bushes.  Now 
and  then,  for  some  reason,  they  would  set  up  a 
chorus  of  cackles,  and  anon  a  hundred  or  more 
would  go  past  me  on  the  wing. 

One  of  the  sights  here  (at  Paso  Robles,  I  mean) 
is  the  leafless  oaks,  their  drooping  branches 
heavily  draped  with  gray  lichen.  The  gray- 
bearded  oaks,  they  might  be  called.  From  my 
elevated  position  I  could  see  broad  hillsides  loosely 
sprinkled  with  them.  And  one  of  the  sights  of 
this  particular  walk  was  a  great  display  of  man- 
zanita  bushes,  now  in  full  flower  and  vocal  with 
bees :  the  blossoms  (of  this  kind  of  manzanita) 
white,  the  foliage  whitish,  and  the  bark  of  the 
richest  mahogany-red.  The  bush  —  which  is 
sometimes  almost  a  tree  —  is  one  of  the  curiosi- 
ties, not  to  say  one  of  the  glories,  of  California. 
Just  at  noon  my  fancy  was  taken  with  the 
look  of  a  solitary  ranch  lying  on  a  long  sunny 
117 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

slope  a  little  below  my  level ;  solitary,  yet  with 
something  uncommonly  thrifty  and  homelike 
about  it,  up  there  by  itself  among  the  hills,  no 
neighbors  in  sight,  only  the  hills,  the  valley,  and 
the  friendly  sky.  A  dog  lay  asleep  on  the  piazza, 
and  the  woman  of  the  house  was  at  work  among  her 
plants  under  the  windows.  It  is  encouraging  to 
think  that  there  are  still  people  in  the  world  who 
do  not  need  to  live  in  a  city,  or  even  in  a  village. 

Another  ranch,  a  few  miles  nearer  town,  was 
less  pleasing  in  its  aspect :  a  rough  shed  of  a  house, 
never  half  built  and  now  longuncared  for,  a  small, 
straggling  orchard  of  fruit  trees,  equally  unkempt, 
and  a  wreck  of  a  barn.  A  letter-box  by  the  road- 
side bore  in  lead-pencil  the  name  of  the  occupant ; 
a  bachelor,  he  must  be,  I  said  ;  certainly  a  man 
with  no  woman's  hand  to  care  for  him  ;  else 
there  would  have  been  at  least  a  geranium  or  a 
rose-bush  in  sight. 

The  name  appealed  to  me,  for  personal  reasons  ; 
and,  when  I  came  opposite  an  old  man  cutting 
wood  not   far   down    the  road,    I    hailed   him. 

Was  he  the  George whose  name  I  had  seen 

on  the  letter-box  a  short  distance  back }  He 
answered  that  he  was.  I  explained  my  cousinly 
interest  in  the  name,  and  in  an  easy,  manly  tone 
he  told  me  his  story. 

He  came  to  California  in  '49,  and  had  been 
118 


AN   UNSUCCESSFUL   HUNT 

here  ever  since.  Now  he  was  seventy-six  years  old, 
well  worn  out,  only  waiting  for  the  end. 

"  You  did  n't  make  your  everlasting  fortune  in 
the  mines  ?  "  I  said. 

It  sounds  like  anything  but  a  pretty  question, 
but  the  tone,  I  hope,  went  some  way  to  save  it. 

"Well,  I  made  something,"  he  answered.  He 
had  considered  himself,  not  rich,  perhaps,  no, 
not  rich,  but  "  medium  "  (and  he  named  a  mod- 
est figure),  till  a  few  years  ago,  when  everything 
he  had  was  destroyed  by  fire.  Since  then  he  had 
lived  from  hand  to  mouth.  At  present  he  was 
squatting  here  on  an  absentee's  ranch,  and  earn- 
ing his  bread  by  cutting  wood.  Oh,  no,  he  had 
no  desire  to  go  back  East.  His  many  brothers 
(he  named  them  over)  were  every  one  dead,  and 
a  Maine  winter,  with  all  that  snow  and  ice,  was 
frightful  to  think  of. 

I  left  him  at  his  task.  Two  hours  of  it,  he  had 
told  me,  were  enough  to  wear  him  out.  His 
great  trouble  was  catarrh.  He  was  "  all  eaten  up 
with  it."  "What,  here  in  California.?"  said  I. 
Oh,  California  was  the  worst  place  in  the  world 
for  catarrh,  he  declared.  It  was  a  very  natural 
disease,  he  had  read,  and  had  increased  greatly 
since  the  fashion  of  taking  snuff  had  gone  out. 

So,  with  a  pleasing  mixture  of  humanity  and 
ornithology,  which  really  go  well  together,  a 
119 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

fact  that  speaks  well  for  both  of  them,  I 
beguiled  the  way.  And  a  good  time  I  made  of 
it.  It  is  often  so,  not  of  a  day  only,  but  of  a  man's 
life :  the  best  things  are  found  after  the  hunt  has 
failed. 


YELLOW-BILLED   MAGPIES 

MY  two  unsuccessful  jaunts  at  Paso  Robles 
in  search  of  yellow-billed  magpies  only 
put  a  keener  edge  upon  my  appetite.  By  this 
time,  indeed,  to  use  an  expressive  colloquialism, 
common  when  I  was  younger,  I  had  magpies  on 
the  brain.  If  such  birds  were  to  be  seen,  at  any 
reasonable  price,  I  wished  to  see  them.  I  had 
heard,  before  leaving  Massachusetts,  that  this 
might  possibly  be  accomplished  in  the  vicinity  of 
Monterey;  but  a  famous  California  ornithologist, 
to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  many  favors,  had  done 
his  best  to  make  an  end  of  all  such  expectations. 
There  zvere  no  magpies  about  Monterey,  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  positiveness.  He  had  been  there,  and 
he  knew.  Happily,  however,  there  is  always  the 
possibility  of  error  in  assertions  of  this  kind,  no 
matter  who  makes  them,  and  I  still  cherished 
an  unspoken  hope  that  my  original  information, 
which  likewise  had  seemed  to  come  from  excellent 
authority,  might  turn  out  to  be  correct.  It  is  no 
very  serious  offense,  no  sacrilege,  surely,  to  ques- 
tion even  a  scientific  man's  knowledge,  so  long  as  it 
is  of  a  negative  sort,  and  so  long,  especially,  as  he 
is  not  admitted  into  the  secret  of  our  skepticism. 

121 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

When  I  had  been  at  Pacific  Grove  ^ — on  the 
Monterey  peninsula  — -  about  a  week,  I  walked  a 
few  miles  over  the  hill  for  a  look  down  into  Car- 
mel  Valley,  of  the  beauty  and  birdiness  of  which 
I  had  received  alluring  reports  ;  and  on  my  way 
back,  after  a  forenoon  of  exceeding  pleasure,  a 
young  man  driving  into  Monterey  with  a  load  of 
apples  (Carmel  apples  are  in  high  repute  here- 
about, it  appears,  though  my  difficult  Yankee 
mouth  was  always  hankering  for  a  tart  New 
England  russet),  offered  me  a  lift.  Half  reluct- 
antly I  accepted  the  invitation,  and  it  was  well  I 
did. 

We  fell  into  talk,  of  course,  and  presently  it 
became  known,  some  things  being  difficult  of 
concealment,  that  I  was  in  search  of  birds,  and 
wanted  of  all  things  to  see  a  few  yellow-billed 
magpies.  ''  Magpies  ? "  the  young  man  responded, 
looking  up  with  something  of  surprise  in  his  face. 
Yes,  I  said ;  I  had  heard  that  there  were  some 
on  a  certain  ranch  somewhere  out  this  way,  So- 
and-So's  ranch.   Did  he  know  where  it  was  ? 

Oh,  yes,  he  knew  the  place.  But  it  was  a  hard 
one  to  get  at,  especially  just  now,  since  the  recent 
heavy  rains  had  swollen  the  river.  But  why  didn't 
I  go  down  to  such-and-such  a  creek,  he  asked. 
For  that  I  shouldn't  have  to  cross  the  river  ;  and 
there  were  magpies  there,  he  was  sure.    He  had 

122 


YELLOW-BILLED  MAGPIES 

often  seen  them.   *' Black  and  white,"  he  added, 
"with  yellow  bills  ;  very  noisy." 

"  Good  for  you  !  "  I  thought.  "  You  're  the  very 
man  I  've  been  looking  for."  Indeed,  I  not  only 
thought  so,  but  said  so ;  and  he  proceeded  to  give 
me  as  definite  instructions  as  might  be  concern- 
ing the  road,  though  they  sounded  none  too  clear, 
I  must  confess. 

I  was  to  drive  about  twenty  miles  from  Monte- 
rey, keeping  to  such-and-such  a  course,  till  I  came 
to  a  certain  man's  ranch.  There,  or  near  there, 
I  should  find  a  creek.  At  the  creek,  the  name  of 

which  I  do  not  print  because  — for  one  reason 

I  have  found  nobody  who  can  tell  me  how  to 
spell  it,  I  was  to  take  to  my  legs,  turning  to  the 
left  and  following  the  canon.  There  I  should  find 
the  magpies.  I  could  n't  miss  them.  At  least,  my 
informant  had  never  been  there  without  seeing 
some. 

Several  days  passed.  I  made  inquiries  at  a 
livery-stable,  but  received  no  great  encourage- 
ment. The  place  was  a  long  way  off,  much  far- 
ther than  my  young  man  had  put  it.  (Livery- 
keepers'  miles  are  apt  to  be  many.)  They  would 
send  me  out,  if  I  said  so ;  but  it  would  be  a  hard 
day's  trip,  and  they  appeared  to  have  no  driver 
who  knew  anything  in  particular  about  the  route. 
Meanwhile,  I  was  having  royal  luck  with  a  set  of 
123 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

migratory  shore-birds,  and  even  the  yellow-billed 
magpies  must  wait.  They  would  wait,  while  mi- 
grants, like  Folly,  must  be  taken  as  they  fly. 

Then  came  a  lull,  and  at  another  stable  I  found 
the  very  driver  I  was  seeking.  He  knew  nothing 
about  magpies,  he  confessed,  but  he  knew  the 
road,  and  by  half  past  seven  the  next  morning, 
it  was  agreed,  we  would  be  on  the  way. 

The  weather  was  most  propitious ;  the  sky 
cloudless,  with  exactly  enough  of  a  light  breeze 
blowing;  and  when  we  had  mounted  the  long 
hill,  through  the  Monterey  pines,  and  come  out 
upon  a  grassy  slope  sprinkled  with  strangely  pic- 
turesque, wind-swept,  one-sided  evergreen  oaks, 
not  far  from  the  Carmel  Mission  and  the  mouth 
of  the  Carmel  River,  the  valley  lay  before  us,  a 
scene  of  enchanting  beauty. 

The  driver  proved  to  be  conversable  (a  good 
listener,  too,  which  is  half  the  battle) ;  the  horses 
promised  to  be  equal  to  all  we  should  ask  of 
them  ;  birds  were  numerous  ;  flocks  of  white  sea- 
gulls dotted  the  brown,  cultivated  lands,  where 
they  follow  the  plough  like  so  many  blackbirds  ; 
the  fields  and  roadsides  were  bright  with  sun- 
cups  (a  kind  of  dwarf  evening  primrose),  saucy- 
faced,  long-stemmed  yellow  violets,  and  other 
blossoms ;  and  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  that 
this  time  my  hunt  was  fated  to  prosper. 
124 


YELLOW-BILLED  MAGPIES 

Once  in  five  miles,  or  some  such  matter,  we 
passed  a  house  (the  driver  knew  every  one  by 
its  owner's  name)  ;  two  or  three  times  a  road- 
runner  was  seen  skulking  amid  the  chaparral, 
his  long,  expressive  tail  rising  and  falling ;  and 
by  and  by  we  came  to  clumps  of  trees  that 
pleased  me  as  much,  perhaps,  as  any  of  the 
lesser  things  that  I  have  seen  in  California  : 
California  buckeyes ;  not  yet  in  bloom,  but 
covered  with  such  a  canopy  of  new  leaves,  and 
so  matchless  in  shape  —  low,  round-topped,  wide- 
spreading,  a  perfect  dome  of  greenery — well, 
there  is  no  saying  how  I  appreciated  their  love- 
liness. If  they  are  not  cultivated,  as  I  have  never 
heard  that  they  are,  it  must  be,  I  should  think, 
because  gardeners  do  not  quite  know  their  busi- 
ness. About  the  same  time,  perhaps  before  it, 
we  passed  my  first  fuchsia-flowered  gooseberry- 
bushes,  their  downward-curving  branches  hung 
so  thickly  with  long,  odd-shaped  scarlet  blooms 
that  I  felt  at  first  as  if  I  were  looking  at  good 
Yankee-land  barberry-bushes  loaded  with  dead- 
ripe  fruit. 

We  had  been  on  the  road  about  four  hours 
when  we  met  a  man,  a  German,  it  seemed,  in  an 
open  wagon.  "We'll  ask  ///;;/  about  it,"  said  the 
driver;  and  he  pulled  up  the  horses. 

Such  a  creek  ?  Yes,  the  German  knew  it.  It 
125 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

was  about  four  miles  ahead.  Was  there  water  in 
it  ?  Well,  there  might  be  —  a  little.  How  should 
we  know  when  we  got  to  it  ?  There  was  a  gate 
close  by. 

Then  I  explained,  in  a  word,  what  I  was  after, 
a  certain  kind  of  bird,  a  magpie.  Oh,  yes,  the 
stranger  answered,  with  no  sign  of  surprise,  as 
if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for 
a  man  to  drive  fifty  miles,  without  a  gun,  to 
look  at  magpies  !  —  Oh,  yes,  I  should  find  them. 
"  Go  in  at  the  gate,"  he  said.  And  then  he  added, 
"  You  may  have  to  go  up  as  far  as  the  house ; 
but  you  '11  find  'em."  Heaven  bless  the  man,  say 
I,  who  has  the  wit  and  the  will  to  deal  in  par- 
ticulars when  information  is  wanted. 

My  spirits  ran  high.  The  game  was  as  good 
as  won.  And  shortly,  before  I  had  noticed  any- 
thing of  the  kind  myself,  while  I  supposed,  in- 
deed, that  we  had  still  a  mile  or  two  to  travel, 
the  driver  said,  "  This  must  be  the  creek."  Sure 
enough  there  was  a  dribble  of  water,  at  which, 
with  patience,  a  man  might  fill  a  quart  cup.  Yes, 
and  there  was  the  gate.  "  All  right,"  said  I,  as 
my  feet  struck  the  ground  ;  "  I  '11  find  you  here 
when  I  come  back." 

I  proceeded  cautiously  up  the  path  beside  the 
brook.  Birds  of  various  sorts  were  in  the  bushes, 
but  I  would  not  stay  to  notice  them.  A  strange 
126 


YELLOW-BILLED  MAGPIES 

warbler,  even,  could  not  detain  me.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  there  when  I  returned.  If  not,  no  mat- 
ter. It  was  probably  a  lutescent  warbler,  I  knew 
afterward,  when  I  could  spare  my  wits  to  con- 
sider the  matter.  For  the  minute  I  could  think 
of  only  one  thing ;  there  was  only  one  thing 
that  I  wanted  to  see,  a  black-and-white  bird 
with  a  long  tail  and  a  yellow  bill. 

Up  the  ravine  I  went,  and  still  no  sign.  Hope 
was  growing  less,  my  spirits  less  exuberant. 
Then  I  came  within  sight  of  a  distant  shanty  in 
a  clearing,  and  recalled  our  German  friend's  cau- 
tion. Even  yet  there  was  a  chance.  Across  the 
wide  grassy  field  I  hastened,  and  up  to  the  house, 
which  turned  out  to  be  inhabited,  a  thing  I  should 
have  deemed  impossible.  Nobody  was  in  sight, 
but  I  could  hear  a  Mexican  or  Spanish  woman 
crooning  to  her  baby  as  she  rocked  it  to  sleep. 

I  took  my  station  near  the  corner  of  the  house, 
in  the  shade  of  a  cypress  tree,  and  waited.  Min- 
utes passed,  —  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  —  and 
no  magpie,  nor  any  sound  of  one.  And  then,  be- 
fore I  knew  it,  my  eye  was  on  the  bird.  She  (I 
suppose  it  was  she)  was  coming  up  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  valley,  a  few  rods  off,  bringing  her 
tail  behind  her ;  and  in  her  yellow  bill  she  held 
a  stick.  She  was  building  a  nest!  True  enough, 
she  flew  to  the  top  of  the  nearest  oak,  a  solitary 
127 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

tree,  standing  a  hundred  feet  away,  lit  on  the 
rim  of  the  already  large  nest  (as  large  as  a  half- 
bushel  basket,  I  said  half  an  hour  later,  when  I 
went  under  the  tree  to  inspect  it),  and  carefully 
worked  the  twig  into  its  place  in  the  wall. 

For  the  three  quarters  of  an  hour  that  I  re- 
mained she  and  her  mate  were  insight  the  greater 
part  of  the  time.  Twice,  at  least,  another  stick 
was  added  to  the  nest ;  but  in  general  both  birds 
did  nothing  in  particular,  and  to  my  disappoint- 
ment had  practically  nothing  to  say.  Perhaps  it 
was  because  of  a  stranger's  presence ;  but  I 
doubt  it ;  they  showed  no  concern,  nor  even 
curiosity,  about  him,  as  he  stood,  glass  in  hand, 
under  the  cypress.  More  likely  (at  high  noon, the 
sky  cloudless)  it  was  their  quiet  hour. 

Greedily  my  eyes  fed  upon  them.  Not  that  they 
were  handsomer,  or  better,  or  intrinsically  more 
interesting  than  forty  other  birds ;  but  they  were 
what  I  had  been  seeking  ;  they  were  rare,  or  so  I 
thought ;  they  had  cost  me  labor;  the  sight  of  them 
had  been  more  than  once  almost  despaired  of. 

A  hummingbird  was  every  minute  or  two  buzz- 
ing in  the  branches  directly  over  my  head,  but 
at  first  I  could  not  look  up.  (She,  too,  was  build- 
ing a  nest.  I  saw  it  half  an  hour  later.)  The 
woman  sang  to  her  baby ;  I  could  hear  all  the 
while  the  rhythmical  creak  of  the  cradle  or  the 
128 


YELLOW-BILLED  MAGPIES 

hammock-rope ;  a  pair  of  red-tailed  hawks  came 
and  went  persistently,  as  if  the  place  belonged  to 
them ;  a  flock  of  grackles  chattered  in  the  cow- 
yard  ;  quail  were  calling  from  the  hillside  ;  a  blue- 
bird perched  near  me,  the  very  hue  of  heaven  on 
his  wings.  Indeed,  it  was  a  peaceful,  heavenly 
hour  in  that  little  cup  of  a  valley,  full  of  Califor- 
nia sunshine  —  an  hour  I  am  likely  to  remember. 

I  came  away,  leaving  the  two  magpies  standing 
in  the  freshly  green  grass.  A  pretty  picture.  The 
strange  warbler  still  flitted  among  the  willow 
branches,  singing  a  bit  of  a  ditty  as  I  passed.  And 
the  driver  waited  at  the  gate.  **I  found  'em," 
said  I;  and  he  seemed  to  share  my  happiness. 

And  what  a  pleasant  drive  it  was  homeward, 
with  ten  thousand  things  to  look  at,  and  all  the 
way  the  beauty  of  the  valley,  the  river,  and  the 
hills !  I  recall  with  special  delight  a  field  brightly 
purple  with  wild  portulacas.  Tiny  flowers  they 
are,  of  the  nature  of  weeds,  I  suppose  ;  but  in  the 
mass,  and  in  the  sun,  and  by  the  acre,  they  make 
a  natural  garden  such  as  not  even  the  more  fam- 
ous California  poppy  can  surpass.  And  hour  after 
hour,  whenever  there  was  no  compelling  cause  to 
look  at  anything  else,  I  was  looking  at  those  two 
yellow-billed  magpies.  May  no  plague  come  nigh 
their  dwelling. 


SOME  ROCK-HAUNTING  BIRDS 

WHICH  do  we  enjoy  most,  the  good  things 
we  have  long  sought  and  at  last  have 
found,  or  those  that  fall  in  our  way  as  surprises  ? 
For  myself,  I  do  not  know,  nor  do  I  think  it 
greatly  matters.  If  the  good  things  will  only  come, 
say  I,  let  them  come  in  whichever  way  they  will ; 
and,  if  they  are  kind  enough  to  come  in  both 
ways,  why,  then  may  I  have  the  grace  to  be  doubly 
thankful. 

Here  in  California,  certainly,  speaking  as  a  bird- 
lover,  I  have  been  blessed  in  both  kinds.  Some 
things  I  have  earned,  if  I  may  say  so,  by  diligent 
inquiry  and  seeking.  Others,  equally  esteemed, 
have,  as  it  were,  stepped  forth  to  meet  me.  "  Be- 
hold us,"  they  have  said.  "  You  seem  not  to  have 
been  looking  for  us  ;  maybe  you  have  never  heard 
of  us  ;  but  here  we  are." 

Pacific  Grove,  at  which  I  tarried  in  preference 
to  its  older  and  more  famous  neighbor,  Monterey, 
is  in  two  capital  respects  an  ideal  place  for  a  walk- 
ing naturalist.  It  is  situated  on  a  peninsula,  with 
the  bay  shore  —  a  bay  as  beautiful,  especially  in 
the  late  afternoon,  as  anything  earthly  need  be 
—  on  one  side,  and  the  ocean  shore  on  the  other; 
130 


SOME   ROCK-HAUNTING   BIRDS 

and  between  the  two  are  miles  —  enough,  and 
not  too  many  —  of  a  companionable  pine  forest; 
a  forest,  I  mean  to  say,  that  is  large  enough  and 
dark  enough  to  be  impressive,  —  a  real  forest, 
that  is,  — yet  so  far  open  to  the  sun,  and  so  easily 
traversed,  as  to  put  a  congenial  stroller,  even 
within  the  first  day  or  two,  on  terms  of  something 
like  old  acquaintance.  Both  shores,  too,  are  hap- 
pily diversified;  a  bold,  rocky,  surf-pounded  coast 
for  the  most  part,  with  here  and  there  short  sandy 
or  pebbly  beaches. 

In  the  pine  woods  were  many  interesting  things, 
with  which  I  am  not  here  concerned.  The  beaches 
brought  me  nothing,  not  so  much  as  a  single  wader, 
I  believe ;  but  the  surf-beaten  rocks,  of  which,  in 
my  ignorance,  I  had  made  no  great  account,  were 
generous  with  surprises.  I  was  fortunate,  I  sup- 
pose, in  happening  along  at  exactly  the  right 
minute  to  catch  certain  rock-haunting  species  in 
the  course  of  their  northward  migration. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  of  March  that  I  walked 
through  the  forest  to  the  ocean,  and  then,  turn- 
ing to  the  right,  sauntered  slowly  down  the  coast 
toward  the  lighthouse.  Moss  Beach  was  empty 
as  usual,  and  I  had  gone  some  distance  beyond, 
over  the  dunes,  looking  for  nothing  in  particular 
(some  of  my  best  hours  were  of  this  complexion, 
for  even  a  naturalist  may  now  and  then  have  a 
131 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

thought  or  two  outside  the  range  of  his  specialty) 
when  all  at  once  sharp  outcries  were  heard  just 
in  front,  and  the  next  moment  two  sharp-winged 
birds  wheeled  round  a  rock  and  disappeared.  My 
dreamy  mood  was  gone  in  a  twinkling.  These 
birds  were  almost  certainly  strangers  ;  and  what 
were  they  ? 

I  followed  them,  practising  all  stealth,  and  by 
and  by,  to  my  delight,  behold,  one  of  them  stood 
directly  before  me  on  the  top  of  a  rock,  preening 
its  feathers,  in  full  view  and  the  best  of  light  — 
a  sandpiper,  with  something  of  the  look  and 
action  of  both  the  spotted  and  the  solitary ;  new, 
beyond  question,  and  requiring  to  be  scrutinized 
in  every  feather.  Sometimes  it  nodded  in  the 
manner  of  a  plover ;  oftener  it  teetered  like  a 
spotted  sandpiper ;  while  its  legs  were  of  a  color 
almost  lively  enough— but  shading  too  much 
to  olive  — for  the  bird  that  we  know  as  "  yellow- 
legs." 

A  long  while  it  posed  there,  much  of  the  time 
on  one  leg,  the  light  favoring  me  so  that  every 
little  while  I  could  see  its  eye  turn  white  as  the 
nictitating  membrane — so  I  believe  it  is  called  — 
was  drawn  over  it.  Then  it  flew  a  short  distance 
(this  was  what  I  was  waiting  for),  and  I  made 
sure  that  there  were  no  white  markings  on  wings 
or  tail,  a  point  of  almost  decisive  importance,  as 
132 


SOME   ROCK-HAUNTING   BIRDS 

of  itself  it  ruled  out  three  or  four  birds  that,  in 
the  retrospect,  —  when  skepticism,  given  half  a 
chance,  is  sure  to  have  its  finger  in  the  pie,  — • 
might  be  troublesome  as  complicating  the  ques- 
tion of  its  identity. 

This  time,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  it  went 
down  close  to  the  surf,  where  the  rocks  were 
thickly  matted  with  seaweeds,  and  began  feed- 
ing, jumping  into  the  air  at  short  intervals,  as  a 
higher  wave  than  common  threatened  to  carry  it 
away.  Once  it  caught  a  fish,  or  other  creature, 
of  considerable  size,  and  seemed  not  a  little  ex- 
cited, beating  its  prize  violently  against  the  rock 
again  and  again,  and  finally  swallowing  it  with 
difficulty,  holding  its  bill  open  for  some  time  in 
the  operation. 

By  this  time  I  had  come  to  a  pretty  strong 
conviction  that  the  stranger  must  be  Heteractitis, 
the  wandering  tattler,  though  I  had  no  definite 
recollection  of  that  bird's  plumage  (a  species 
never  seen  east  of  the  Pacific  coast),  and  knew 
absolutely  nothing  about  the  kind  of  places  it 
frequented.  The  controlling  consideration,  in  my 
present  state  of  ignorance,  was  that  the  bird 
could  be  nothing  else. 

My  guess  proved  to  be  correct.  Possibly  I 
should  not  be  mentioning  it  here,  had  it  turned 
out  otherwise.  When  I  got  back  to  the  hotel, 
133 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

and  brought  my  penciled  description  to  the  book, 
everything  taUied,  as  we  say.  But  the  book,  for 
lack  of  knowledge  on  the  part  of  its  author,  it  is 
to  be  presumed,  had  nothing  whatever  to  tell  me 
concerning  the  wandering  tattler's  feeding-habits. 
Resort  was  had  by  letter  to  a  man  who  would  be 
able  to  enlighten  me  upon  that  point,  and  he 
replied  that  Heteractitis  haunted  the  rocks,  not 
beaches  nor  fiats. 

Here,  then,  was  a  bird  I  had  never  counted  upon, 
an  extra,  as  it  were,  thrown  in  for  good  measure. 
Two  mornings  afterward  I  went  through  the 
forest  again  ;  but  this  time,  on  reaching  the  ocean 
shore,  I  turned  to  the  left  and  walked  as  far  as 
the  Seal  Rocks,  so  called,  where  all  Del  Monte 
and  Monterey  tourists  who  take  the  famous 
seventeen-mile  drive  (it  was  one  of  my  good  days 
in  California  when  I  first  made  the  round  on  foot), 
stop  for  a  minute  or  two  to  look  at  the  seals,  fifty 
or  more  of  which,  if  the  tide  favors,  may  com- 
monly be  seen  basking  in  the  sun.  The  largest  of 
the  rocks,  all  of  which  are  a  little  off-shore,  is 
monopolized  by  flocks  of  sea-birds,  pelicans  and 
cormorants  especially,  which  have  whitened  its 
whole  surface  down  to  highwater  mark. 

I  was  looking  at  this  rock,  counting  the  cor- 
morants and  pelicans,  and  making  out  as  well  as 
I  could  the  identity  of  the  gulls,  — the  beautiful 
134 


SOME   ROCK-HAUNTING   BIRDS 

Heermann  gull  among  the  rest,  —  when  I  was 
startled  by  a  set  of  loud,  clear,  piercing  whistles, 
and  the  next  instant  saw  four  red-billed  birds 
skimming  over  the  water  between  me  and  the 
rocks.  Another  minute,  and  they  had  alighted 
on  one  of  the  smaller  of  them,  and  I  was  repeat- 
ing to  myself,  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  "Oyster- 
catchers,  black  oyster-catchers!"  Their  stout 
bright  bills  and  their  general  figure  and  attitudes, 
so  like  those  of  the  Eastern  bird,  which  I  had 
seen  a  few  years  before  at  St.  Augustine, 
Florida,  could  belong  to  nothing  else. 

The  feet  and  legs  were  of  a  lively  flesh  color, 
the  head  and  neck  black,  or  nearly  so,  while  the 
wings,  the  most  beautiful  part  of  them  (they 
were  in  splendid  light)  were  of  the  warmest, 
silkiest,  shining  brown,  verging  upon  chestnut ; 
as  lovely  a  shade,  I  thought,  as  I  had  ever  seen 
worn  by  any  bird. 

For  a  long  time  I  kept  my  glass  trained  upon 
them,  now  prying  barnacles,  or  things  of  that 
nature,  off  the  rock,  —  sometimes  putting  them- 
selves into  odd  positions  in  order  to  secure  the 
needed  purchase  upon  the  shell, — now  leaping 
into  the  air  as  a  wave  broke  over  their  standing- 
place,  and  now  taking  a  short  flight,  always  with 
quickly  repeated  whistles  of  the  loudest  and 
clearest  sort. 

135 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

I  had  just  lost  them,  — not  entirely  to  my 
regret,  a  stitch  in  the  side,  from  standing  so 
still  and  holding  the  glass  so  motionless,  making 
me  glad  of  a  chance  to  stretch  myself,  —  when 
a  little  flock  of  smaller  black-and-white  birds 
came  down  the  shore,  uttering  a  chorus  of  rat- 
tling cries,  and  seemed  to  alight  among  the  rocks 
just  north  of  me.  I  gave  chase,  came  up  with 
them,  and  presently  discovered  that  I  had  found 
another  novelty,  —  a  bunch  of  black  turnstones ; 
sooty  black,  an  odd  and  striking  shade,  and  clear 
white,  the  whole  curiously  splashed  and  mottled, 
giving  them,  even  with  no  brown  markings,  some- 
thing of  the  cotton-print,  patchwork  appearance 
of  our  Eastern  *' calico-bird." 

I  was  still  felicitating  myself  upon  this  run  of 
luck,  when  on  the  same  rocks  I  perceived  three 
birds  of  quite  another  complexion ;  rather  plumper 
and  larger  than  the  turnstones,  in  general  of  a 
beautiful  slaty-gray  color,  and  of  a  singular 
"spotty"  look,  to  use  the  word  that  came  of  itself 
to  my  pencil.  Without  going  into  particulars  as 
to  legs,  bill,  tail,  rump,  and  so  forth,  all  of  which 
were  religiously  jotted  down,  suffice  it  to  say  that 
these  I  settled  upon  as  probably  surf-birds,  if,  I 
said  to  myself,  by  way  of  caution,  surf-birds  are 
feeders  upon  rocks.  For  the  birds  before  me 
kept  persistently  close  to  the  water,  on  what 
136 


SOME   ROCK-HAUNTING   BIRDS 

looked  at  my  distance  like  bare  rocks,  not  off- 
shore like  those  to  which  the  oyster-catchers 
restricted  themselves,  nor  covered  with  seaweed 
like  those  resorted  to  by  the  wandering  tattlers. 
Once  —  but  this  was  on  the  next  day,  and  there 
were  then  four  of  the  birds  — they  occupied 
themselves  a  long  time  on  the  face  of  a  rock 
that  inclined  seaward,  running  up  into  sight  as 
the  higher  waves  chased  them,  and  anon  hasten- 
ing down  again  as  the  water  receded. 

The  turnstones,  having  a  way  of  their  own, 
fed  mostly  from  rocks  nearer  land,  and  between 
whiles  walked  about  the  beach,  picking  up  mor- 
sels as  they  went. 

"The  ox  knoweth  his  owner,  and  the  ass  his 
master's  crib" ;  and  so  every  kind  of  bird  seems 
to  know  where  the  table  is  spread  for  it. 

The  surf-birds  (as  to  the  identity  of  which,  as 
well  as  of  the  wandering  tattlers,  I  afterwards 
reassured  myself  by  an  examination  of  skins  in 
the  fine  collection  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences, 
at  San  Francisco)  interested  me  the  more  be- 
cause of  an  anecdote  related  to  me  a  good  while 
ago  by  a  friend  who  for  some  years  had  been  a 
bird-collector  for  the  Smithsonian  Institution, 
and  in  pursuit  of  his  calling  had  traveled  pretty 
well  over  the  southwestern  United  States.  On 
one  of  his  trips  to  the  Pacific  coast,  as  I  remem- 
137 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

ber  the  story,  he  had  finished  his  stint,  packed 
his  trunks,  guns  and  all,  and  then,  having  an 
hour  to  spare,  strolled  out  upon  the  shore.  And 
there,  to  his  unspeakable  chagrin,  were  birds  of 
a  kind  he  had  long  looked  for  and  never  seen ! 
Surf-birds,  he  said  they  were,  birds  that  at  that 
time  I  had  never  heard  of. 

I  forget  the  remainder  of  the  story,  if  there 
was  a  remainder ;  but  it  impressed  me  as  the 
height  of  a  collector's  tragedy,  that  he  should 
have  missed  his  one  opportunity  to  secure  speci- 
mens so  desirable. 

To  this  day,  according  to  Mrs.  Bailey's  *'  Hand- 
book," which  is  my  vade  mecum  hereabouts,  the 
breeding-grounds  of  the  species  are  unknown, 
though  an  eminent  authority  upon  the  birds  of 
the  Pacific  coast,  Mr.  L.  M.  Loomis,  assures  me 
that  it  is  not  rare  during  its  migrations.  Only, 
he  adds,  you  must  know  how  and  where  to  look 
for  it.  Rare  or  not  rare,  however  ("it  has  never 
been  found  in  abundance,"  is  Mrs.  Bailey's  way 
of  putting  the  matter),  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  it. 
I  may  almost  say  I  am  proud  to  have  seen  it  — 
a  bird  which  no  man  of  science  has  ever  suc- 
ceeded in  detecting  at  home.  Somehow  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  feel  a  certain  heightened  respect 
for  birds  that  have  succeeded  in  keeping  such  a 
secret  in  despite  of  man's  insatiable  curiosity. 


UNDER  THE  REDWOODS 

LIKE  my  fellow  tourists,  though  I  was  touring 
alone,  I  stopped  at  Santa  Cruz  for  a  sight 
of  "the  big  trees."  They  would  disappoint  me 
at  first,  I  had  been  warned;  but  nothing  of  the 
kind  happened.  After  a  day  and  a  half  spent  in 
their  shadow  I  could  still  only  look  up  and  won- 
der ;  and  that,  neither  more  nor  less,  was  what  I 
did  on  the  first  instant.  Nor  did  my  admiration 
exhaust  itself  upon  the  few  largest  and  tallest.  A 
little  more  in  girth,  or  even  a  little  more  in  height, 
seemed  not  to  count  for  much  with  me.  Even 
after  I  had  looked  for  hours  at  the  biggest  and 
tallest  of  them  I  found  myself  seized  with  a  feel- 
ing of  something  like  awe  at  the  sight  of  a  group 
of  smaller  ones  (smaller,  but  how  they  soared !) 
growing  directly  upon  the  roadside  halfway  be- 
tween the  famous  grove  and  the  city. 

The  grove  itself  is  much  less  a  grove,  and  much 
more  a  forest,  than  I  had  expected  to  find  it.  I 
was  there  almost  by  myself,  having  planned  things 
to  that  end,  and  after  getting  away  from  the  gate 
and  the  buildings  near  it,  could  wander  about  by 
the  hour  with  a  sense  of  real  woodland  seclusion 
and  wildness.  Not  that  a  man  could  walk  steadily 
139 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

for  that  length  of  time  without  a  frequent  return 
upon  his  steps,  for  the  inclosure  does  not  con- 
tain many  acres ;  but  I  had  no  desire  to  walk 
steadily,  nor  any  objection  to  passing  again  and 
again  over  the  same  ground.  What  I  mean  is, 
that  the  place  is  so  dark,  so  densely  shaded,  so 
wild  in  itself,  and  so  surrounded  with  wildness, 
that  one  has  very  little  sensation  of  being  in  a 
park,  and  can  often  forget  entirely  that  he  is  in 
a  place  devoted  to  exploitation  and  show.  Wander 
far  enough  to  get  away  from  the  sight  of  trees 
criminally  disfigured  by  ugly,  staring  placards 
bearing  the  ridiculous  titles  of  "Jumbo,"  "Roose- 
velt," and  the  like,  and  you  are,  as  it  were,  taken 
into  the  very  lap  of  Nature,  and  can  rest  there 
in  wondering  content. 

As  I  have  implied,  it  was  the  height  of  the 
trees,  rather  than  their  girth,  that  laid  hold  of  my 
imagination.  Their  circumference  I  could  walk 
around,  but  their  altitude  was  like  the  divine 
wisdom  :  it  was  high  ;  I  could  not  attain  unto  it. 
I  was  never  tired,  though  the  muscles  of  my  neck 
sometimes  were,  of  looking  up  the  straight,  naked 
boles  into  the  far-away  tops.  The  tallest  was  only 
three  hundred  and  six  feet  high,  to  be  sure  (a  wind 
having  broken  off  some  seventy-five  feet  a  few 
winters  ago  —  I  report  what  was  told  me) ;  and 
the  Northwest  has  many  trees  taller  than  that,  I 
140 


UNDER   THE   REDWOODS 

am  assured.  But  then,  I  have  never  seen  them  ; 
and,  even  if  I  had,  still,  three  hundred  feet  is  a 
pretty  figure.  If  it  is  n't  high,  —  and  of  course  it 
isn't,  absolutely  speaking,  —  it  looks  high,  and 
that,  after  all,  is  the  main  consideration.  A  tree 
that  lifts  its  head  so  far  heavenward  —  well,  if 
you  ask  me,  I  think  I  could  sooner  worship  it 
than  any  picture  or  graven  image.  If  a  man  can 
stand  under  it,  and  not  feel  himself  diminished, 
there  must  be  something  seriously  wrong  in  his 
make-up. 

It  was  surprising  how  dark  and  sunless  the 
place  was,  even  under  a  cloudless  sky.  One  of 
the  keepers  said  to  me,  "  Oh,  yes,  it  is  all  very 
well  to  spend  an  hour  here,  or  even  a  day;  but  to 
live  here,  I  tell  you,  it  is  pretty  depressing."  It 
was  less  so  in  summer,  when  the  sun  passed  al- 
most overhead,  and  could  strike  down  between 
the  trees. 

I  inquired  about  bird-life  and  bird-singing. 
There  was  very  little  of  either,  he  answered;  and 
I  imagine  he  was  right.  The  shadows  are  too 
dense ;  every  tree  interposing  such  an  enormous 
depth  of  leafy  cover,  so  many  *'  layers  of  shade," 
between  the  sun  and  the  ground.  In  summer,  he 
added,  the  "  jay  birds  "  made  a  good  deal  of  chat- 
tering. There  were  two  kinds  of  them,  he  told 
me ;  and  I  knew  as  much  already :  a  dark-blue 
141 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

kind,  with  a  tall  crest ;  and  a  lighter-blue  one 
without  a  crest.  I  had  seen  both  just  outside  the 
grove  within  an  hour.  In  fact,  ten  of  the  crest- 
less  (California)  jays  were  feeding  together  in  the 
grass  of  the  nearest  field ;  and  in  the  bushes  near 
by  were  three  or  four  coast  jays  {carbo7iacea), 
superb  creatures,  at  which  the  blindest  unornith- 
ological  man  in  the  world  could  not  help  looking. 

In  the  grove  itself,  during  my  visits,  the  nois- 
iest birds  were  a  small  number  —  perhaps  only  a 
pair — of  California  woodpeckers.  They  seemed 
to  delight  in  high  places,  and  not  infrequently 
were  calling,  "  Jacob,  Jacob,"  in  the  hearty  way 
to  which  I  had  become  accustomed,  not  to  say 
attached,  during  my  week  at  Paso  Robles,  where 
they  might  almost  be  said  to  own  the  town,  they 
were  so  many  and  so  perfectly  at  home  in  the 
ancient,  lichen-hung  valley  oaks. 

Two  kinds  of  birds  sang  in  the  grove,  but  in 
the  remoter,  less  frequented  parts  of  it  only,  and 
with  voices  so  fine  —  so  threadlike  —  that  I  did 
not  think  it  strange  that  the  keepers  made  no  ac- 
count of  them.  These  were  Western  winter  wrens 
and  California  brown  creepers.  Of  the  two  the 
creepers  were  perhaps  the  more  numerous ;  cer- 
tainly they  were  oftenest  heard.  For  a  good 
while  I  could  get  no  sight  of  the  singers.  It  was 
the  creeper's  little  wire-drawn,  warble-like  tune, 
142 


UNDER   THE   REDWOODS 

I  grew  more  and  more  convinced  ;  but  in  that 
darksome  place,  and  on  those  huge,  lofty  trunks, 
the  difficulty  was  to  put  my  eye  on  such  an  atom. 
At  last  it  was  done,  however ;  and  several  times 
afterward  I  detected  the  tiny  creatures,  in  their 
rustic  pepper-and-salt  coats,  their  legs  straddled 
to  their  ridiculous  utmost,  hitching  up  a  redwood 
bole  till  they  got  so  high  as  to  be  nothing  but  a 
speck.  Amazingly  busy  they  seemed,  not  stopping 
a  moment,  even  when  they  sang,  but,  like  Words- 
worth's reaper,  singing  at  their  work,  and  up  the 
redwoods  creeping. 

Both  wren  and  creeper  were  fairly  numerous  ; 
but  the  wrens,  though  frequently  seen,  and 
oftener  heard,  dodging  about  and  scolding  in  the 
underbrush,  after  the  manner  of  their  kind,  were 
rather  chary  of  their  music,  which,  if  I  am  to  be 
judge,  is  somewhat  inferior  to  that  of  the  East- 
ern  bird,  not  only  in  voice,  which  is  "  squeakier  " 
(I  am  quoting  my  pencil  —  which  is  far  from  in- 
fallible on  a  question  so  nice),  but  in  the  length 
and  spirit  of  the  performance. 

A  hairy  woodpecker  of  some  kind  was  heard 
more  than  once,  but  was  never  seen ;  now  and 
then  a  Sierra  junco  or  two  showed  themselves, 
though  they  probably  lived  just  outside  the  grove; 
and  at  the  last  minute  of  my  farewell  round  on 
the  second  day  I  was  delighted  out  of  measure 
143 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

by  the  sight  of  a  hermit  thrush.  It  seemed  the 
place  of  all  places  for  him.  If  only  he  would  have 
sung  a  few  measures  from  the  top  of  one  of  those 
sky-pointing,  sky-piercing  redwoods!  The  golden, 
leisurely  notes,  coming  from  so  near  heaven, 
would  have  sounded  more  angelic  than  ever. 

On  both  days,  too,  though  I  was  near  forget- 
ting to  mention  it,  I  heard  repeatedly  in  a  cer- 
tain place  the  buzz  of  a  hummer's  wings  ;  and 
once,  for  a  minute,  I  caught  sight  of  the  bird,  a 
female,  darting  about  among  the  branches  over- 
head. To  all  appearance  she  must  have  been  at 
home  there,  strange  and  sombre  abode  as  it 
seemed  for  such  a  lover  of  sunshine  and  flowers. 

These,  I  think,  were,  with  one  exception,  all 
the  birds  I  saw  or  heard  within  the  grove ;  but 
the  exception  was  worth  more  than  all  the  rest, 
a  flock  of  five  or  six  varied  thrushes.  How  re- 
joiced I  was  to  find  them  (my  first  glimpse  of  a 
bird  much  looked  for)  in  so  romantic  and  mem- 
orable a  place  ! 

They  were  shy  beyond  all  reason,  and  on  the 
first  day  kept  so  persistently  in  shadow  that  I 
could  hardly  say  I  had  seen  them  at  all.  On  the 
second  day  I  was  more  fortunate :  first  with  a 
splendid,  full-plumaged  male  that  stood  on  a  low 
bough  (not  of  a  redwood ;  old  redwoods  have  no 
low  boughs),  in  a  pretty  good  light,  clucking 
144 


UNDER   THE   REDWOODS 

softly,  "as  nervous  as  a  witch,"  to  quote  my 
pencil  again ;  behaving,  in  short,  very  much  like 
a  robin  overtaken  by  a  similar  mood  ;  and  after- 
ward, with  a  bird  feeding  in  an  open  pasture 
along  with  the  jays  before  mentioned.  This  one 
I  stayed  with  a  long  time.  In  action  he,  too,  was 
more  than  a  little  robin-like,  seeming  to  depend 
largely  upon  his  sense  of  hearing,  standing  motion- 
less to  listen,  and  then  like  a  flash  whirling 
squarely  about  and  pouncing  upon  something  or 
other  that  had  stirred  behind  him  in  the  grass. 

Under  trees  so  lofty,  their  tops  so  almost 
beyond  one's  vision,  one  feels  after  a  little  a  need 
of  lesser  things  to  rest  the  eyes  upon  by  way  of 
relief  and  contrast ;  and  under  the  redwoods  this 
need  was  well  provided  for.  The  undergrowth  of 
trees  was  composed  mostly  of  bays,  some  of  them 
of  such  a  size  as  would  be  called  large  in  any 
ordinary  competition,  madronas,  both  trees  and 
shrubs,  —  a  novelty  to  me,  and  highly  appre- 
ciated, —  and  the  tanbark  oak.  The  madrona  I 
recognized  at  sight,  its  magnolia-like  leaves  and 
its  bright  mahogany-colored  branches  making 
its  identity  manifest  to  one  who  had  read  about 
it  and  had  been  expecting  to  find  it. 

As  for  the  oaks,  I  had  not  so  much  as  a  sus- 
picion of  their  true  character.    On  the  first  day 
I  noticed  only  shrubby  growths,  and,  impelled 
145 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

by  curiosity,  carried  a  twig  back  to  the  hotel. 
There  I  showed  it  to  a  Santa  Crucian,  who 
answered  readily  that  it  was  tanbark  oak.  **  They 
use  the  bark  in  the  big  tannery  here,"  he  said. 
To  speak  frankly,  I  doubted  his  knowledge,  the 
texture  of  the  leaves  being  so  radically  unlike 
that  of  any  Qiiercus  leaf  that  I  had  ever  seen. 

The  next  day,  however,  in  the  grove  itself,  I 
found  trees  of  a  considerable  size,  and  under 
them  picked  up  acorns  and  curiously  feathered 
acorn-cups  ;  and  within  twenty-four  hours,  by  a 
happy  accident,  my  attention  was  directed  to  a 
recent  magazine  article  in  which  the  tree  was 
described  and  its  leaves  and  fruit  figured.  The 
tree  is  not  a  Qiierciis^  it  appears,  but  is  of  the 
genus  Pasania,  its  only  surviving  congeners  (but 
these  number  almost  a  hundred !)  being  found 
in  Siam  and  the  neighboring  islands  !  A  strange 
oak  it  surely  is,  and  a  strange  history  it  must 
have  had  :  an  ancient  genus,  surviving  from 
geologic  times,  we  are  told,  equally  related  to 
Querciis  and  Castanea,  to  the  oaks,  that  is,  and 
the  chestnuts.  And  now,  in  these  last  days,  with 
all  this  ennobling  family  history  behind  it,  it  is 
being  cut  down  for  the  tanning  of  shoe-leather. 
To  such  base  uses  do  we  come. 

On  the  floor  of  the  grove  were  beautiful  and 
modest  flowers  :  redwood  oxalis,  with  its  exquisite 
146 


UNDER   THE   REDWOODS 

leaves  and  its  lovely  pink  blossoms ;  an  uncom- 
monly pretty  trillium,  opening  white  and  turning 
to  a  delicate  rose-color;  two  kinds  of  yellow 
violets,  one  rather  tall,  with  a  leafy  stem,  like 
Viola pubescens,  the  other  {Viola  sarmeiitosa)  of 
a  lowly  habit,  as  pretty  and  unassuming  as  the 
round-leaved  violet  of  the  East,  after  which 
nothing  more  need  be  said ;  the  toothwort,  which 
is  everywhere  in  California,  so  far  as  I  have  seen, 
but  nowhere  more  welcome  than  here  ;  and  a  wild 
ginger  {Asarum)y  with  characteristic  odd-shaped, 
long-horned  blooms  —  grotesque,  they  might 
almost  be  called  —  tucked  away  under  the  spa- 
cious leaves. 

Later  in  the  season  there  would  be  other  blos- 
soms, for  I  noticed  iris  and  various  things  com- 
ing along,  and  even  a  small  wild  rose  bush.  Red- 
wood botany  would  be  a  highly  interesting  study, 
I  told  myself,  if  one  could  have  the  year  long  in 
which  to  pursue  it. 

But  the  redwoods  themselves  were  the  supreme 
consideration.  Some  of  the  largest,  a  small  num- 
ber, comparatively,  stood  alone.  In  reason  they 
should  be  most  effective  so ;  but  for  myself  I 
think  I  was  more  impressed  by  those  that  stood 
in  a  cluster  or  group,  a  lordly  brotherhood  of 
giants;  the  largest  in  the  middle,  then  two, 
three,  or  four  large  ones  supporting  it,  as  it  were, 
147 


FIELD-DAYS  IN   CALIFORNIA 

and  just  outside  of  these  another  circle  of  younger 
and  smaller  ones.  In  many  instances  it  seems  to 
be  all  but  certain  that  the  present  trees  —  the 
present  groups,  especially — have  sprung  from 
stumps  or  roots  of  an  earlier  generation.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  the  giants  were  in  those  days.  Far 
back  those  days  must  have  been,  for  some  of  the 
trees  that  we  now  gaze  upon  with  wonder,  if  we 
may  believe  what  we  read  about  them,  were 
poets  before  David  and  philosophers  befoi^ 
Solomon.  ^    ^J^^ugtUBW*^ 


IN  THE  SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

TO  a  naturalist  on  his  travels,  enviable  man, 
few  places  are  at  first  sight  less  encourag- 
ing than  a  large  city  surrounded  by  wide  areas  of 
cultivated  land.  Such  a  place  is  San  Jose,  the 
principal  town  of  the  famous  and  beautiful  Santa 
Clara  Valley.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  valleys 
in  California,  it  is  said  to  be ;  and  I  can  easily 
believe  it.  But  a  naturalist,  as  I  say,  even  though 
he  be  also  a  lover  of  beauty,  looks  with  distrust 
upon  miles  on  miles  of  plum  and  cherry  orchards. 
Plums  and  cherries  may  be  never  so  much  to 
his  taste ;  but  by  the  time  an  electric  car  has 
whirled  him  past  a  million  or  two  of  white  trees 
(I  am  assuming  the  month  to  be  March),  and  the 
ladies  in  the  seat  behind  him  have  let  off  a  hun- 
dred or  two  of  exclamations,  he,  poor  man,  is 
ready  to  cry  ''Enough."  Now,  if  you  please,  he 
would  be  thankful  to  see  a  stretch  of  "timber  "  (in 
the  New  England  dialect,  "woods"),  a  swamp, 
or  even  a  desert ;  almost  any  sort  of  place,  indeed, 
where  he  might  expect  to  find  a  few  wild  things 
growing,  and  among  them  a  few  birds  and  but- 
terflies flitting  about. 

The  naturalist's    predicament   at   San   Jose, 
149 


FIELD-DAYS   IN    CALIFORNIA 

however,  is  not  so  hopeless  as  at  first  sight  it 
looks.  The  electric  cars  are  his  salvation.  My 
very  first  ride  carried  me  in  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  to  a  picturesque  and  measurably  wild  canon 
out  among  the  Mount  Hamilton  foothills  east  of 
the  city.  The  place  is  a  park,  to  be  sure,  but  a 
park  not  yet  spoiled  by  excessive  improvement ; 
and  at  such  hours  as  I  was  there  it  proved  to  be 
by  no  means  overrun  with  visitors.  In  it  there 
were  many  birds,  but  nothing  new. 

Another  car  conveyed  me  to  the  foothills  of  the 
Santa  Cruz  Range.  And  this  was  better  still, 
for  now  my  walk  did  not  end  in  a  cul-de-sac,  but 
could  be  continued  till  my  legs  or  my  watch 
hinted  that  for  this  time  I  had  gone  far  enough. 
I  would  try  the  place  again,  I  promised  myself 
as  I  came  away,  and  would  provide  a  day  for  it. 

This  morning,  therefore  (March  26),  after  a 
pouring  rain  overnight,  I  boarded  the  car  again, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  route  began  my  day. 

And  I  began  it  auspiciously ;  for  I  was  hardly 
out  of  the  car  before  a  bird  moved  in  a  bush  at 
my  side,  and,  looking  at  it,  I  saw  at  once  that  it 
was  a  flycatcher  for  which  I  had  been  on  the 
lookout,  the  Western  flycatcher,  so  called.  The 
large  family  to  which  it  belongs  is  one  of  the 
most  puzzling,  and  the  genus  Emptdojiax  is  far 
from  being  the  easiest  of  the  genera ;  but,  as  it 
150 


THE   SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

happened,  I  knew  that  Empidonax  difficilis,  for 
all  its  ill-omened  name,  was  readily  distinguish- 
able from  any  similar  bird  to  be  found  hereabouts 
by  its  distinctly  yellow  under  parts  ;  and  the  bird 
before  me,  face  on,  and  close  by,  was  a  plain  case, 
or,  as  it  is  the  present  fashion  to  say,  an  easy 
proposition. 

A  few  rods  more  and  I  came  to  a  cluster  of 
small  oaks,  in  which,  on  the  morning  previous, 
I  had  found  two  or  three  Townsend  warblers 
(black-throated  green  warblers  with  a  difference), 
birds  that  I  had  seen  some  time  before  among 
the  Monterey  pines  at  Point  Pinos.  With  what 
delight  I  put  my  glass  upon  the  first  one,  so 
bright,  so  handsome,  so  new,  so  suggestive  of 
one  of  my  dearest  New  England  favorites,  and 
so  unexpected  !  After  all,  I  believe  it  is  the  un- 
looked-for things  that  afford  us  the  keenest 
pleasure, — though  I  may  be  of  another  mind 
within  a  week.  The  unexpectedness  in  the  pre- 
sent case  was  due  to  nothing  better  than  igno- 
rance, it  is  true,  the  bird  being  known  (by  other 
people)  to  be  common  all  winter  in  the  Monterey 
region  ;  but  that  is  a  consideration  beside  the 
point.  I  followed  the  lovely  creature,  as  it  threaded 
its  way  among  the  pine  leaves,  with  as  much 
eagerness  as  if  thousands  of  dollars  had  depended 
upon  the  sight.  And  it  was  well  I  did  (blessed 
151 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

are  the  ignorant,  say  I) ;  for,  while  I  was  staring 
at  it,  and  a  few  like  it  that  presently  appeared 
in  its  company,  fixing  their  lineaments  in  memory 
and  on  paper,  another  and  much  rarer  bird  hopped 
into  sight :  a  hermit  warbler ;  the  only  one  I 
have  ever  seen,  and,  as  the  indications  now 
point,  the  only  one  I  am  ever  likely  to  see.  He 
was  a  beauty,  a  male  in  full  spring  dress,  cheeks 
of  the  brightest  yellow,  and  throat  as  black  as 
jet.i 

Well,  there  were  no  such  warblers  in  the  trees 
about  Congress  Spring  this  March  morning, 
though  I  scrutinized  the  branches  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some.  For  an  ornithologist  is  like  a  dog  ; 
if  he  has  once  seen  a  rare  bird  in  a  certain  tree,  he 
can  never  go  by  it  without  barking  up  the  trunk. 
But  a  better  bird  than  any  warbler  awaited  me 
a  little  way  ahead.  There  I  came  to  a  bridge  over 
the  brook,  now  a  turbid,  raging  torrent,  after  the 
last  night's  rain  ;  for  rain,  even  though  it  comes 
from  heaven,  will  make  a  California  stream 
muddy.  While  I  had  stood  here  the  day  before, 
letting  the  endless  flow  of  the  water  moralize  my 

1  Since  then  I  have  seen  many  hermit  warblers,  in  the  Yose- 
mite,  where  they  breed,  and  in  my  own  Santa  Barbara  door- 
yard  where  they  were  present  in  goodly  numbers,  as  they 
were  throughout  the  city,  in  May,  19 12,  —  a  great  surprise,  and 
as  far  as  my  knowledge  extends,  a  state  of  things  before  un- 
heard of. 

152 


THE   SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

thoughts  —  a  "  priestlike  task  "  at  which  nothing 
in  nature  is  more  efficient,  —  a  dark-colored  bird 
flew  out  from  under  the  bridge  close  to  the  water, 
anon  dropped  into  it,  swam,  or  was  carried  by 
it,  a  yard  or  two,  took  wing  again,  again  dropped 
into  the  current,  and  then  came  to  rest  upon  a 
rock  on  the  water's  edge.  There  it  stood  for  half 
an  hour,  a  great  part  of  the  time  on  one  leg, 
preening  its  feathers,  yawning,  and,  what  was 
worth  all  the  rest,  winking,  till  its  eye  looked 
like  the  revolving  lamp  of  a  lighthouse,  I  said  to 
myself.  At  last,  when  I  was  growing  weary,  it 
all  at  once  gave  signs  of  nervousness,  and  the 
next  moment  was  on  the  wing  and  out  of  sight. 
A  water-ouzel,  as  the  reader  knows. 

There  would  be  no  such  fortune  for  me  this 
morning,  I  knew  well  enough  as  I  approached  the 
bridge ;  but  anyhow  I  must  stay  a  bit,  admiring 
the  rush  of  the  water,  and  the  ferns  of  various 
sorts  that  draped  the  tall,  vertical  cliff  on  the 
farther  side.  And  lo,  while  I  was  thus  engaged, 
my  ears  caught  the  ouzel's  note.  He  was  at  that 
very  moment  dropping  into  the  stream  under  my 
eyes.  Another  instant,  and  he  was  out  again,  and 
in  two  seconds  more  he  was  gone.  What  a  sprite  ! 
A  bird  with  none  like  him.  So  commonplace  an 
exterior,  and,  as  it  surely  seems,  so  romantic  a 
soul,  vitality  incarnate,  the  very  soul  of  the 
153 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

mountain  brook.  If  only  he  would  have  sung 
for  me ! 

One  thing  I  must  mention.  I  had  never  noticed 
till  yesterday  that,  in  addition  to  his  bobbing  or 
nodding  habit,  he  practices  sometimes  a  teeter  of 
the  hinder  parts,  after  the  manner  of  the  spotted 
sandpiper  and  the  water-thrush.  And,  seeing  it, 
I  wondered  again,  what  connection,  if  any,  there 
can  be  between  life  about  the  edges  of  moving, 
rippling  water  and  this  wave-like  seesaw. 

Along  the  road  I  was  following,  which  itself 
followed  the  course  of  the  brook,  —  since  it  is 
part  of  a  river's  business  to  show  surveyors  the 
way,  —  were  trees,  shrubs,  and  ground  flowers, 
all  interesting,  and  nearly  all  of  kinds  new  to  the 
Eastern  traveler.  I  looked  with  pleasure,  as  I  had 
done  before,  at  alder  trees  (plain  alder,  for  cer- 
tain, bark,  leaf,  and  fruit  all  telling  the  same 
story)  sixty  feet  or  more  in  height,  and  as  large 
as  good-sized  New  England  beeches,  to  which, 
as  one  looks  at  their  trunks,  they  bear  no  small 
resemblance. 

Tanbark  oaks  were  here,  —  now  and  then  a 
truly  magnificent  specimen,  —  redwoods,  of 
course,  sycamores,  maples,  of  a  kind  for  which 
I  had  no  name,^  madronas,   now  in  full  bloom 

1  Big-leaf  maple,  Acer  macrophyllum^  as  I  have  learned 
since. 


THE  SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

(tall,  red-barked  trees,  bearing  the  blossoms  of  a 
blueberry-bush !),  and  bays,  also  in  bloom,  with 
the  glossy  leaves  of  which  I  was  continually  set- 
ting my  nose  on  fire.  "Very  good  to  inhale,"  a 
young  man  tells  me,  when  I  meet  him  in  the  road 
and  speak  to  him  about  the  size  and  beauty  of 
the  trees.  I  had  thought  only  of  svielliug  them. 
"  Very  good  "  they  must  be,  if  pungency  be  the 
size  and  measure  of  beneficence. 

Of  course,  in  this  strange  land,  a  man,  espe- 
cially a  man  with  no  manual  of  the  local  botany, 
must  have  his  curiosity  piqued  by  a  world  of 
things  as  to  the  identity,  or  even  the  relationship, 
of  which  he  cannot  form  so  much  as  a  plausible 
conjecture.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  low  shrub,  at 
this  moment  in  bloom.  It  looks  like  nothing  that  I 
have  ever  seen,  and  I  can  only  pass  it  by.  Here, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  another  low,  waist-high  shrub 
that  has  the  appearance  of  a  birch ;  and  such  it 
is,  for  a  smell  of  the  inner  bark  is  proof  conclusive. 
But  what  kind  of  birch  t  And  at  my  feet  are 
shining  green  leaves  that  prophesy  of  something, 
I  have  no  notion  what. 

By  and  by  I  come  to  a  place  where  in  the 
shadow  of  thick  trees  a  dainty  white  violet  is 
growing.  This  I  have  seen  before.  Viola  Beck- 
withii,  mountain  heart's -ease.  Miss  Parsons's 
"  Wild  Flowers  of  California,"  a  book  to  which 
155 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

I  have  been  much  indebted,  enables  me  to  call 
it.  And  the  sight  reminds  me  that  I  have  yet  to 
see  a  blue  violet  on  the  Pacific  coast,  though  I 
have  seen  at  least  three  kinds  of  yellow  ones. 

As  I  approach  a  house  a  splendid  dark-blue 
jay  shows  itself.  One  of  the  royal  birds ;  a  pretty 
strict  forester,  one  would  imagine  it  ought  to  be  ; 
but  it  seems  plain,  from  what  I  have  remarked 
here  as  well  as  elsewhere,  that  it  finds  something 
to  its  advantage  in  the  neighborhood  of  man.  I 
am  always  ready  for  another  look  at  it.  Such 
depth  and  richness  of  color,  and  so  imposing  a 
topknot !  I  recall  the  excitement  of  my  first  meet- 
ing with  one  of  its  brothers,  the  long-crested,  at 
the  Grand  Canon  in  December  last.  Many  new 
birds  I  have  seen  since  then,  but  few  to  give  me 
keener  pleasure. 

Another  stretch  of  woods,  and  I  am  near  an- 
other house.  And  outside  the  fence,  reclining  in 
the  sun,  is  the  lord  of  the  manor,  a  shaggy  Ger- 
man, with  whom  I  pass  the  time  of  day  —  though 
the  time  of  day  might  seem  to  be  about  the  last 
thing  to  interest  a  man  so  profitably  employed. 
A  cat  lies  stretched  out  in  the  grass  beside  him. 
Yesterday  he  had  a  dog  for  company.  Cats  and 
dogs  alike  have  a  special  fondness  for  the  society 
of  lazy  people,  I  believe. 

Still  another  half-mile  of  forest,  and  I  come 

156 


THE  SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

upon  a  Swede  mending  the  road.  How  soft  and 
pleasant  a  voice  he  has !  And  how  friendly  a 
smile !  I  love  to  meet  with  such  a  neighbor  in  a 
lonely  place,  and  as  I  pass  on  I  fall  to  wonder- 
ing how  it  is  that  all  these  foreigners,  as  a  rule, 
seem  to  have  a  touch  of  civility  that  lies  beyond 
the  reach  of  my  brother  Americans.  Politeness, 
suavity,  gentleness  of  manner,  mildness  of  tone, 
friendliness  of  expression  —  in  all  these  qualities 
the  men  from  over  seas  appear  to  excel  us.  It  was 
only  an  hour  ago,  while  I  stood  on  the  bridge, 
watching  the  ouzel,  that  a  young  man,  foreign- 
born,  though  of  what  nationality  I  did  not  make 
out,  stopped  to  ask  a  question  about  the  electric 
car.  Even  now  I  can  hear  his  agreeable  voice 
and  the  good-bye,  like  a  word  of  grace,  with  which, 
after  an  acquaintance  of  two  minutes,  he  took 
his  leave. 

Yet  I  must  tell  the  truth.  The  only  man  who 
has  been  rude  to  me  in  California,  where  I  have 
been  wandering  about  by  myself  in  all  sorts  of 
places,  on  an  errand  that  must  have  been  a  mys- 
tery to  many,  was  a  foreigner,  a  Teuton.  //>, 
indeed,  went  so  far  as  to  threaten  personal  vio- 
lence, with  something  like  murder  in  his  eye; 
all  because,  in  utter  innocence,  I  had  stood  for  a 
few  minutes  a  hundred  yards  or  more  from  his 
shanty  of  a  house,  quite  outside  the  fence,  level- 
157 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

ing  my  small  field-glass  upon  a  flock  of  sparrows 
feeding  there  on  the  ground.  I  might  go  some- 
where else  with  my  telescope,  he  said,  when  I 
tried  to  explain  what  I  was  doing.  He  wasn't 
going  to  stand  it.  His  dog,  meanwhile,  was  set- 
ting him  a  Christian  example ;  for  in  response  to 
a  coaxing  gesture  he  had  ventured  up,  and  was 
licking  my  hand.  Possibly  I  made  matters  worse 
by  remarking,  "Your  ^^^  seems  voxy  friendly!' 
though  I  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  quote  the  saying 
of  the  French  cynic  —  if  he  was  French  —  that 
the  more  he  saw  of  men,  the  better  he  thought 
of  dogs. 

But  that  was  months  ago,  on  the  outskirts  of 
San  Diego,  and  might  never  have  been  brought 
again  to  mind  but  for  the  praise  of  foreigners 
into  which  I  have  unwittingly  fallen. 

Nearly  or  quite  all  the  residents  of  this  Santa 
Cruz  mountain  region  (for  the  little  distance  that 
I  have  gone,  that  is  to  say)  seem  to  be  men  from 
the  old  countries.  The  last  one  with  whom  I 
spoke  to-day  was  a  Frenchman.  He  had  been 
here  more  than  forty  years,  he  said. 

The  interview  began  by  his  appearing  at  the 
door  and  caUing  out  cheerily,  "  Well,  won't  you 
have  some  more  apples  t  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  I  answered. 

But  he  persisted,  ''Oh,  come  in, and  have  some." 
158 


THE   SANTA   CRUZ   MOUNTAINS 

I  had  begged  the  favor  of  two  or  three  the  day 
before,  to  piece  out  the  slender  luncheon  I  had 
brought  along.  So  I  went  in,  and  we  chatted 
awhile,  he  most  cheerfully,  as  proud  of  Califor- 
nia and  "these  mountains"  as  if  he  had  been 
born  to  their  inheritance.  I  was  starting  home- 
ward in  a  few  days,  I  remarked. 

"  Oh,  then  you  don't  like  this  country,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  surprise  and  sorrow. 

Yes,  indeed,  I  assured  him ;  I  liked  it  much ; 
oh,  very  much  ;  but  then,  I  had  not  come  here 
with  any  idea  of  remaining.  He  was  comforted, 
I  thought,  and  we  parted  on  the  best  of  terms. 

*'  I  am  French,  you  know,"  he  said ;  and  I  an- 
swered, "Yes."  He  had  been  jabbering  in  that 
tongue  with  a  pretty  young  woman  (Mary,  he 
called  her)  who  had  dropped  in  for  a  minute  or 
two  on  her  way  to  the  village. 

After  this  I  had  interviews  with  sundry  birds 
and  flowers,  but  there  is  no  space  in  which  to 
tell  of  them;  and,  specialist  though  I  am,  espe- 
cially when  in  new  places,  I  shall  remember  long- 
est, it  may  be,  a  Frenchman,  a  Swede,  and  a  man 
of  unknown  race  with  whom  I  have  to-day  passed 
kindly  words  among  "these  mountains."  For, 
after  all,  a  man,  if  he  be  halfway  decent  and  rea- 
sonable, is  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows. 


READING  A   CHECK-LIST 

MANY  literary  men  have  been  given  to 
reading  in  dictionaries.  The  articles  are 
brief,  but  full  of  substance,  and  by  no  means  so 
disconnected  as  they  look.  One  continually  sug- 
gests another,  and  as  a  man  whose  business  is 
with  words  follows  the  trail  of  these  suggestions, 
turning  the  big  book  over,  a  half -hour  will  pass 
almost  before  he  knows  it.  And  in  that  time 
he  may  have  gathered  more  information  worth 
keeping  than  twice  the  same  time  devoted  to 
the  casualties  of  a  newspaper  would  have  been 
likely  to  furnish. 

So  a  student  of  birds  may  spend  many  a  pro- 
fitable season,  longer  or  shorter,  in  rummaging 
over  the  A.  O.  U.  Check-List  The  initial  stands 
for  the  American  Ornithologists'  Union,  and  the 
latest  edition  of  the  book  was  published  in  19 lo. 
We  had  waited  for  it  impatiently,  so  many  things 
had  happened  during  the  fifteen  years  since  the 
second  edition  was  issued,  and  on  having  it  in 
hand  we  hastened  to  look  it  through  from  cover 
to  cover. 

Errors  and  omissions  were  noted  with  a  meas- 
ure of  innocently  malicious  satisfaction ;  for  as  a 
160 


LAGUJ^A    BLAXCA,    WITH    WATER-FOWL 


READING   A   CHECK-LIST 

matter  of  course,  if  we  happened  to  have  lived 
in  some  out-of-the-way  corner,  we  had  collected 
certain  bits  of  local  knowledge  which  the  learned 
compilers  of  the  work  had  overlooked,  or  never 
possessed  —  or,  conceivably,  had  considered  too 
unimportant  for  mention.  But  our  main  interest 
just  now  was  in  marking  changes  and  additions. 
Here  a  subspecies,  too  hastily  made  (naming  a 
new  bird  is  one  of  the  roads  to  glory,  "  and  many 
there  be  that  find  it "),  had  been  cast  out  as  un- 
worthy, fuller  information  having  shown  that  it 
graded  too  closely  into  another  form.  Here  a 
new  subspecies  had  been  accepted,  or  put  on 
probation,  as  valid,  or  likely  to  prove  so.  And 
here,  there,  and  everywhere,  alas  and  alas,  old 
familiar  scientific  names,  so  called,  had  given 
place  to  new,  till  we  groaned  in  spirit  and  were 
ready  to  declare  that  it  was  only  the  nicknames, 
** trivial"  names,  common  names,  vulgar  names 
(belittle  them  how  you  will),  that  stood  any 
chance  of  holding  their  own,  and  therefore  were 
worth  retaining  in  the  memory. 

But  all  these  technical  details  having  been 
noted,  and  the  volume  set  in  its  place  on  the 
shelf,  it  still  serves  what  we  may  almost  call  its 
best  use  —  as  a  book  to  read  in  at  odd  times. 

You  have  an  idle  five  minutes  while  waiting 
(patiently,  of  course)  for  breakfast  or  luncheon. 
i6i 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Take  down  the  Check-List  and  open  it  at  ran- 
dom. You  are  pretty  sure  to  strike  something 
worth  while,  something  that  will  at  least  admin- 
ister a  fillip  to  the  imagination  or  the  memory. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  Trudeau's  tern.  What 
about  it  ?  You  have  never  seen  one,  for  you 
have  no  collection,  and  even  if  you  had,  seeing  a 
bird's  skin  is  hardly  to  be  accepted  as  seeing  the 
bird.  And  you  read  that  its  home  is  on  the 
southern  coast  of  South  America,  that  it  breeds 
in  Argentina,  and  that  it  has  twice  been  found 
in  the  United  States,  once  on  Long  Island  and 
once  (where  the  type  specimen  was  taken  —  the 
bird,  that  is,  from  which  the  species  was  origin- 
ally described  and  named)  at  Great  Egg  Harbor, 
New  Jersey. 

It  is  among  the  possibilities,  your  pardon  being 
begged,  and  ours  being  a  sizable  country,  that 
you  have  never  so  much  as  heard  of  Great  Egg 
Harbor ;  but  henceforth,  if  your  memory  is  any- 
thing like  Macaulay's,  the  name  will  have  a  cer- 
tain interest  for  you.  "Great  Egg  Harbor.?" 
you  will  say,  if  you  chance  to  read  of  a  murder 
or  a  robbery  committed  thereabout  (such  cheer- 
ful events  being  the  staple  of  telegraphic  news), 
"  Great  Egg  Harbor,  New  Jersey.?  Oh  yes,  that's 
where  the  first  Trudeau  tern  known  to  science, 
was  captured,  in  1838."  And  perhaps,  though  I 
162 


READING   A  CHECK-LIST 

suppose  this  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  (news- 
paper readers'  time  being  precious),  you  will  be 
at  the  trouble  to  look  up  the  place  on  the  map 
—  a  little  south  of  Atlantic  City,  a  pleasure  resort 
which  every  one,  even  a  Californian,  who  has  so 
many  excellent  resorts  of  his  own,  may  be  pre- 
sumed to  have  heard  of. 

But  what  a  distance  for  a  bird,  even  for  such 
a  swift  one,  to  have  strayed  from  home !  From 
Argentina  to  New  Jersey  —  and  that  only  to  be 
"  collected."  Poor  bird  !  A  Captain  Cook  among 
terns.  But  what  a  crowning  bit  of  luck  for  Mr. 
Audubon ! 

Another  day,  and  the  book  falls  open  of  its 
own  accord  at  page  184.  You  are  among  the 
kingfishers.  One  of  them  (there  are  only  three  in 
North  America,  though  there  are  a  hundred  and 
fifty  in  the  world),  has  what  you  have  always 
thought  about  the  most  beautiful  of  all  scientific 
names,  Ceryle  alcyon.  Who  could  imagine  any- 
thing prettier,  or  better-sounding.  Ceryle  aieyon  ! 
It  falls  from  the  tongue  like  music,  and  suggests 
the  fairest  of  weather. 

But  you  are  chiefly  concerned  just  now  with 
another  one,  Ceryle  avtericana  septentrionalis. 
Not  so  poetical  an  appellation  by  a  good  deal, 
nor,  to  your  North  American  ears,  so  very  ap- 
propriate, since  the  bird,  so  far  from  being  a 
163 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

peculiarly  Northern  species,  finds  its  northern 
limit  in  the  southernmost  corner  of  the  United 
States.  No  matter  for  that,  however.  You  know 
the  reason  of  the  name,  and  acknowledge  it  a 
sound  one.  What  you  are  thinking  of  now  is  not 
the  name,  but  the  bird  itself,  and  the  bright 
Texas  day  on  which  you  saw  it. 

You  had  sauntered  a  few  miles  out  of  the  city 
of  San  Antonio,  spying  to  right  and  left  for  new 
birds  in  that,  to  you,  new  part  of  the  world,  when 
suddenly,  up  a  little  shaded  brook,  sitting  on  a 
low  branch  overhanging  the  water,  you  beheld 
this  lovely  little  kingfisher.  What  a  treat  it  was 
to  your  eyes  !  How  glossy  were  its  green  feath- 
ers !  And  what  a  wide-awake,  businesslike  air  it 
had! 

That  was  many  years  ago,  as  years  are  begin- 
ning to  be  reckoned  in  your  lessening  calendar, 
and  you  have  never  seen  one  since.  But  reading 
these  few  words  about  it  here  in  the  Check-List 
brings  the  whole  delightful  scene  before  you  al- 
most as  fresh  as  new.  Memory  is  among  the  most 
precious  of  an  old  man's  treasures. 

Again  you  turn  the  leaves.  You  are  nearer  the 
end  of  the  book  this  time,  among  the  warblers, 
and  near  the  top  of  the  right-hand  page  are  the 
words,  like  magic  in  their  effect :  "  Black-throated 
Green  Warbler."  You  have  not  seen  the  wearer 
164 


READING   A  CHECK-LIST 

of  that  name  for  three  years,  but  if  it  were  ten 
times  as  long,  you  could  still  see  it  plainly.  Well 
as  you  know  it,  however,  you  had  forgotten  what 
a  traveler  it  has  been  found  to  be.  A  bird  of  the 
Eastern  States,  you  would  have  said;  but  the 
Check-List  tells  you  that  it  breeds  as  far  west  as 
Minnesota,  and  has  been  known  to  wander  to 
**  Arizona,  Greenland,  and  Europe  "  :  and  you  re- 
call (an  event  too  recent  for  record  in  the  Check- 
List)  that  a  friend  has  told  you  of  having  taken 
one  within  a  few  months  on  the  Farallon  Islands  ! 
Think  of  that  for  a  bird  so  small,  and,  as  you  would 
have  thought,  from  all  you  have  seen  of  it,  so  little 
enterprising. 

The  frail  thing  must  have  strayed  far  out 
of  its  course  while  migrating,  and  then  been 
caught  in  a  gale,  you  suppose,  and  swept  out  on 
the  Pacific.  There,  hard  beset  and  ready  to  per- 
ish, it  descried  a  rock  jutting  up  out  of  the  wil- 
derness of  water,  and  with  a  grateful  heart  dropped 
down  upon  it,  safe  at  last  —  only  to  have  its  life 
blown  out  by  this  devotee  of  science. 

The  Farallon  Islands,  Greenland,  and  Europe ! 
Strange  over-sea  and  cross-country  journeyings, 
surely,  for  our  little  four-  or  five-inch  warbler.  As 
you  think  of  it,  you  can  see  its  black  throat  and 
golden  cheeks,  and  hear  again  that  most  musi- 
cally hoarse,  drowsy  voice  repeating,  out  of  the 
165 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

top  of  a  tall  Massachusetts  pine,  "Trees,  trees, 
murmuring  trees." 

You  can  even  remember  the  very  clump  of 
evergreens,  in  what  is  now  part  of  the  Arnold 
Arboretum,  under  which  you  first  heard  it,  not 
knowing,  nor  being  able  to  discover,  who  its 
author  was.  A  brook  trickled  along  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  and  there  you  stayed  evening  after  even- 
ing to  listen  to  the  sweet  song  of  the  veery.  You 
recall,  too,  your  satisfaction,  a  few  years  after- 
ward, in  printing  in  a  good  place  your  version  of 
the  warbler's  tune,  a  version  which  you  were 
young  enough,  and  simple  enough,  to  hope  might 
be  kept  in  remembrance. 

Well,  that  was  long  ago,  and  whether  any  one 
else  remembers  it  or  not,  it  pleases  you  now  to 
say  it  over  to  yourself,  as  you  seem  once  more 
to  hear  the  bird  saying  it,  "Trees,  trees,  murmur- 
ing trees."  Yes,  yes,  there  is  much  good  litera- 
ture in  the  Check-List.  For  the  right  reader,  and 
at  the  right  time,  its  briefest  prose  may  turn  to 
poetry. 

And  now  did  you  ever  hear  of  Piddletown, 
Dorsetshire,  England.?  Ten  to  one  you  never  did. 
Yet  here  in  the  Check-List  you  may  learn  that, 
surprising  as  it  sounds,  it  holds  a  small  but  not 
unimportant  place  in  the  annals  of  American  or- 
nithology. Our  North  American  bittern,  one  of 
1 66 


READING   A   CHECK-LIST 

the  most  original  of  characters,  a  pretty  strict 
recluse,  but,  when  in  the  mood  for  it,  making 
noise  enough  for  two  or  three,  was  named  from 
a  specimen  taken  in  that  English  village  (or  city, 
or  hamlet,  whichever  it  is)  almost  a  hundred 
years  ago.  How  it  came  to  be  so  far  from  home  is 
a  puzzle,  —  to  you,  at  any  rate,  —  as  it  is,  like- 
wise, how  the  species  had  so  long  eluded  scien- 
tific description.  Of  all  places  in  the  world,  that 
our  queer  old  stakedriver  and  pumper,  after  lift- 
ing up  its  hollow,  far-sounding  voice  in  our  grassy 
American  meadows  from  time  immemorial,  should 
have  been  obliged  to  go  to  Piddletown,  England, 
for  its  christening ! 

A  Boston  deacon,  a  devout  and,  better  still,  a 
good  man,  once  remarked  to  his  Sunday-school 
class  (I  can  hear  his  voice  now,  after  more  than 
forty  years),  "There's  a  lot  of  good  reading  in 
John,"  meaning  in  the  Gospel  that,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  passes  under  the  name  of  that  favorite 
disciple.  And  so,  I  repeat,  there 's  plenty  of  good 
reading  in  the  Check-List. 

Once  more  (for  in  this  alluring  and  easy  kind 
of  study  your  "  finallies  "  and  "  lastlies  "  and  "  in 
conclusions  "  are  liable  to  be  as  many  as  tailed 
out  those  long-winded,  old-fashioned  sermons  to 
which  you  listened,  if  you  did  listen,  in  your 
childhood,  while  the  enviable  man  seated  at  the 
167 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

**  head  of  the  pew  "  was  happily  lost  in  a  doze)  — 
once  more,  I  say,  but  the  once  may  run  into  twice 
or  thrice,  here  is  the  yellow-billed  magpie.  You 
remember,  and  think  of  it  often,  the  long  sunny 
day  that  you  spent  in  pursuit  of  the  bird  down 
in  the  beautiful  Carmel  Valley,  near  Monterey ; 
but  you  have  never  noticed  till  this  minute  that 
the  type  of  the  species  was  taken  here  at  Santa 
Barbara  seventy-five  years  ago.  You  wonder  how 
long  it  is  since  the  last  one  was  seen  in  this 
neighborhood.  There  is  nothing  of  the  kind  here 
now,  unless  it  be  on  the  other  side  of  the  moun- 
tains, a  long  distance  from  the  city  itself;  so 
much  you  can  vouch  for.  First  and  last  you  have 
seen  a  good  many  from  car-windows  in  riding  up 
and  down  the  Sacramento  and  San  Joaquin  Val- 
leys, but  you  have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  one 
in  Santa  Barbara.  It  is  a  good  bird  to  see  any- 
where, a  bird  of  a  most  remarkably  restricted 
range  (like  the  Florida  jay  —  and  not  like  the 
black-throated  green  warbler),  being  found  in  a 
certain  small  section  of  California  and  nowhere 
else  in  the  world.  You  are  pleased  to  know  that 
Audubon  named  it  (after  his  friend  Nuttall  — 
Pica  nuttalli)  from  an  example  taken  in  this 
most  delightful  of  California  places. 

Few  birds  but  possess  some  interesting  pecul- 
iarity. This  magpie  is  not  the  only  one  that  had  its 
i68 


READING   A   CHECK-LIST 

scientific  birth  in  Santa  Barbara.  The  tricolored 
blackbird  is  another.  This  you  have  now  and  then 
seen  here,  though  it  is  hardly  to  be  accounted  com- 
mon ;  one  of  the  most  taking  members  of  its  genus, 
with  a  startling  snow-white  patch  on  its  glossy 
jet-black  wing.  The  white- winged  blackbird  you 
have  always  felt  like  calling  it.  You  will  never 
read  its  name  (the  bird's  third  color  is  red)  with- 
out remembering  your  first  sight  and  sound  of  it 
(the  first  sound  especially)  in  a  dense  clump  of 
tall  reeds,  out  of  which  came  a  most  unearthly 
chorus  of  cat-like  yawlings.  *'  Something  new  !  " 
you  exclaimed,  and  after  a  little  patient  waiting 
you  saw  the  blackbird  signed  with  those  impres- 
sive white  wing-marks.  Yes,  indeed,  something 
new,  and  something  of  the  best. 

Suffer  me  to  say  once  more,  and  this  time 
"finally  and  in  conclusion,"  for  the  right  man 
there's  a  world  of  good  reading  in  a  Check- List. 


ON  FOOT  IN  THE  YOSEMITE 

WHEN  flocks  of  wild  geese  light  in  the 
Yosemite,  Mr.  Muir  tells  us,  they  have 
hard  work  to  find  their  way  out  again.  Whatever 
direction  they  take,  they  are  soon  stopped  by  the 
wall,  the  height  of  which  they  seem  to  have  an 
insuperable  difficulty  in  gauging.  There  is  some- 
thing mysterious  about  it,  they  must  think.  The 
rock  looks  to  be  only  about  so  high,  but  when 
they  should  be  flying  far  over  its  top,  north- 
ward or  southward  as  the  season  may  be,  here 
they  are  once  more  beating  against  its  stony 
face ;  and  only  when,  in  their  bewilderment,  they 
chance  to  follow  the  downward  course  of  the 
river,  do  they  hit  upon  an  exit. 

Their  case  is  not  peculiar.  Dr.  Bunnell,  in  his 
interesting  account  of  the  discovery  of  the  Val- 
ley, describes  the  ludicrous  guesses  of  his  com- 
panions and  himself  as  to  the  height  of  the  rock 
known  since  that  day  as  El  Capitan.  One  "  offi- 
cial" estimated  it  at  four  hundred  feet.  A  bolder 
spirit  guessed  eight  hundred,  while  Dr.  Bunnell, 
waxing  very  courageous,  raised  the  figure  to 
fifteen  hundred.  The  real  height  is  thirty-three 
hundred  feet.  The  fact  seems  to  be  that  the  eyes 
170 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

of  men  and  geese  alike  are  unaccustomed  to  such 
perpendicular  altitudes.  A  mountain  three  thou- 
sand feet  high  is  a  thing  to  which  they  are  more 
or  less  used,  but  a  vertical  surface  of  anything 
like  the  same  elevation  stands  far  outside  of  all 
ordinary  experience.  El  Capitan  is  nothing  but 
a  cliff,  and  a  cliff  —  well,  any  goose  knows  what 
a  cliff  is  like.  Rise  about  so  far,  and  you  are 
over  it. 

For  myself,  I  sympathize  with  the  geese.  The 
rock  was  in  sight  from  my  tent-door  for  eight 
weeks,  and  grand  as  it  was  at  first,  and  grander 
still  as  it  became,  I  could  never  make  it  look 
half  a  mile  high.  It  was  especially  alluring  to 
me  in  the  evening  twilight.  At  that  hour,  the 
day's  tramp  over,  I  loved  to  lie  back  in  my 
camp-chair  and  look  and  look  at  its  noble  out- 
line against  the  bright  western  sky.  Professor 
Whitney  says  that  it  can  be  seen  from  the  San 
Joaquin  Valley,  fifty  or  sixty  miles  away ;  but  I 
am  now  farther  away  than  that  several  times 
over,  and  I  can  see  it  at  this  minute  with  all  dis- 
tinctness—  not  only  the  rock  itself,  but  the 
loose  fringe  of  low  trees  along  its  top,  with  the 
afterglow  shining  through  them.  There  would 
be  comparatively  little  profit  in  traveling  if  we 
could  see  things  only  so  long  as  we  remain  within 
sight  of  them. 

171 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Comparatively  little  profit,  I  say;  but  in  abso- 
lute terms  a  great  profit,  nevertheless,  for  any 
man  who  is  an  adept  in  the  art  of  living,  wise 
enough  to  value  not  only  his  life,  but  the  days 
of  his  life.  It  is  something  to  spend  a  happy 
hour,  a  happy  week  or  month,  though  that  were 
to  be  the  end  of  it.  And  such  a  two  months  as  I 
spent  in  the  Yosemite  !  Let  what  will  happen  to 
me  henceforth,  so  much  at  least  I  have  enjoyed. 
Even  if  I  should  never  think  of  the  place  again, 
though  memory  should  fail  me  altogether,  those 
eight  weeks  were  mine.  While  they  lasted  I 
lived  and  was  happy.  Six  o'clock  every  morning 
saw  me  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  half  an  hour 
later,  with  bread  in  my  pocket,  I  was  on  the 
road,  head  in  air,  stepping  briskly  for  warmth, 
and  singing  with  myself  over  the  anticipation  of 
new  adventures.  I  might  be  heading  for  Eagle 
Peak  or  Nevada  Fall,  for  Glacier  Point,  or  where 
not.  What  matter.?  Here  was  another  day  of 
Sierra  sunlight  and  Sierra  air,  in  which  to  look 
and  look,  and  listen  and  listen,  and  play  with  my 
thoughts  and  dreams.  Who  was  it  that  said, 
"  Take  care  of  the  days,  and  life  will  take  care 
of  itself.'*"  Others,  men  and  women,  old  and 
young,  were  setting  forth  on  the  same  holiday 
errand;  as  we  met  or  passed  each  other  we  ex- 
changed cheerful  greetings ;  but  for  my  part  I 
172 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

was  always  alone,  and,  let  it  sound  how  it  will,  I 
liked  my  company. 

Such  a  feast  of  walking  as  the  two  months  gave 
me  !  I  shall  never  have  another  to  compare  with 
it.  The  Valley  itself  is  four  thousand  feet  above 
sea-level,  and  many  of  my  jaunts  took  me  nearly 
or  quite  as  much  higher.  If  the  trails  were  steep, 
the  exhilaration  was  so  much  the  greater.  At  the 
worst  I  had  only  to  stop  a  minute  or  two  now 
and  then  to  breathe  and  look  about  me,  upward 
or  downward,  or  across  the  way.  There  might 
be  a  bird  near  by,  a  solitaire  by  good  luck,  or  a 
mountain  quail ;  or  two  or  three  fox  sparrows  ^ 
might  be  singing  gayly  from  the  chaparral ;  or 
as  many  pigeons  might  go  by  me  along  the  moun- 
tain-side, speeding  like  the  wind  ;  or,  not  improb- 
ably, a  flock  of  big  black  swifts  would  be  doub- 
ling and  turning  in  crazy,  lightning-like  zigzags 
over  my  head.  Who  would  not  pause  a  minute 
to  confer  with  strangers  of  such  quality  ?  And  if 
attractions  of  this  more  animated  kind  failed, 
there  would  likely  enough  be  broad  acres  of 
densely  growing  manzanita  bushes  on  either  side 
of  the  way,  every  one  of  the  million  branches 
hanging  full  of  tiny  bells,  graceful  in  shape  as 

1  These  must  be  Mr.  Muir's  "  song  sparrows,"  I  suppose, 
since,  strangely  enough,  no  kind  of  song  sparrow,  properly 
so  called,  has  ever  been  reported  from  the  Valley. 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

Grecian  urns,  tinted  like  the  pinkest  and  loveliest 
of  seashells,  and  fragrant  with  a  reminiscence  of 
the  sweetest  of  all  blossoms,  our  darling  Plymouth 
mayflower.  Yes,  indeed,  there  was  always  plenty 
of  excuse  for  a  breathing  spell. 

I  began  with  reasonable  moderation,  remem- 
bering my  years.  For  two  or  three  days  I  con- 
fined my  steps  to  the  valley-level ;  walking  to 
Mirror  Lake,  whither  every  one  goes,  though 
mostly  not  on  foot,  to  see  the  famous  reflections 
in  its  unruffled  surface  just  before  the  sunrise ; 
to  the  foot  of  Yosemite  Fall,  or  as  near  it  as 
might  be  without  a  drenching ;  and  down  the 
dusty  road  to  Capitan  bridge  and  the  Bridal 
Veil. 

For  the  time  I  was  contented  to  look  up, 
pitching  my  walk  low  but  my  prospect  high,  as 
some  old  poet  said.  For  that,  the  cliffs,  the  falls, 
and  the  wonderful  pines,  cedars,  and  firs,  many 
of  them  approaching  two  hundred  feet  in  height, 
afforded  continual  inducement.  Sentinel  Rock 
loomed  immediately  behind  my  tent,  a  flat,  thin, 
upright  slab,  —  so  it  looks  at  a  front  view,  — for 
all  the  world  like  some  ancient  giant's  grave- 
stone, three  thousand  feet  in  height.  It  was  the 
first  thing  I  saw  every  morning  as  I  glanced  up 
through  the  ventilator  in  the  gable  at  the  head 
of  my  bed,  and  the  first  thing  that  I  thought  of 
174 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

one  night  when  an  earthquake  rocked  me  out  of 
my  sleep. 

Eagle  Peak,  nearly  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  Valley,  peeping  over  the  heads  of  its  two 
younger  brothers,  was  directly  opposite  as  I 
stood  in  my  door ;  while  I  had  only  to  move  out 
of  the  range  of  a  group  of  pine  trees  to  see  the 
greatest  (at  that  season)  of  the  four  principal 
falls  :  the  Yosemite,  that  is  to  say,  with  its  first 
stupendous  free  plunge  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  hun- 
dred feet,  a  height  equal  (so  my  Yankee-bred 
imagination  dealt  with  the  matter)  to  that  of  six 
or  seven  Bunker  Hill  monuments  standing  end 
on  end.  It  was  grandeur  itself  to  look  at, — 
grandeur  and  beauty  combined  ;  and  to  my  un- 
accustomed ears  what  a  noise  it  made !  As  I 
started  out  for  my  first  stroll,  on  the  noon  of  my 
arrival  (May  ii),  a  black  cloud  overspread  the 
sky  in  that  quarter,  from  which  came  at  intervals 
a  heavy  rumbling  as  of  not  very  distant  thunder. 
A  passer-by,  however,  when  I  questioned  him 
about  it,  said,   ''  No,  it  is  the  fall." 

And  so  it  proved,  some  momentary  shifting 
of  the  wind  seeming  now  and  then  to  lift  the 
enormous  column  of  water  from  the  cliff,  and 
anon  let  it  down  again  with  a  resounding  crash. 
This  peculiar  thundering  sound,  I  was  told,  would 
be  less  frequent  later  in  the  season,  when  the 
175 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

warmer  days  would  melt  the  mountain  snow 
more  rapidly,  and  the  bulk  of  the  water  would  be 
so  increased  that  no  ordinary  wind  could  lift  it. 
This,  also,  was  shown  to  be  correct,  unreasonable 
as  it  had  sounded,  —  the  more  water,  the  less 
noise.  And  after  all,  when  I  came  to  consider 
the  subject,  it  was  only  giving  a  new  twist  to  an 
old  proverb,  "Still  waters  run  deep." 

My  first  considerable  climb  was  an  unpremedi- 
tated trip  to  the  top  of  Nevada  Fall.  I  took  the 
trail  at  the  head  of  the  Valley,  close  by  the 
Happy  Isles,  some  three  miles  from  camp,  with 
no  intention  of  doing  more  than  try  what  it 
might  be  like ;  but  an  upward-leading  path  is  of 
itself  an  eloquent,  almost  irresistible,  persuasion, 
and,  one  turn  after  another,  I  kept  on,  the  ravish- 
ing wildness  of  the  Merced  Canon,  and  the  sight 
and  sound  of  the  Merced  River  raging  among  the 
rocks,  getting  more  and  more  hold  upon  me,  till 
all  at  once  the  winding  path  made  a  short  descent, 
and  behold,  I  was  on  a  bridge  over  the  river  ;  and 
yonder,  all  unexpected,  only  a  little  distance  up 
the  foaming  rapids,  through  the  loveliest  vista 
of  sombre  evergreens  and  bright,  newly  leaved, 
yellow-green  maples,  was  a  fall,  far  less  high  than 
the  Yosemite,  to  be  sure,  but  even  more  grace- 
ful in  its  proportions  (breadth  and  height  being 
better  related),  and  so  wondrously  set  or  framed 

176 


VERNAL    FALL,    YOSEMITE   VALLEY 
Mr.  Torrey  with  a  Friend  on  the  Bridge 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

that  no  words  could  begin  to  intimate  its  beauty. 
I  looked  and  looked  (but  half  the  time  I  must  be 
attending  to  the  mad  rush  of  the  river  under  my 
feet),  and  then  started  on.  If  this  was  Vernal 
Fall,  as  to  which,  in  my  happy  ignorance,  I  was 
a  little  uncertain,  then  I  must  go  far  enough  to 
see  the  Nevada. 

The  trail  carried  me  about  and  about,  past  big 
snowbanks  and  along  the  edge  of  flowery  slopes, 
with  ever-shifting  views  of  the  mighty  canon  and 
the  lofty  cliffs  beyond,  till  after  what  may  have 
been  an  hour's  work  it  brought  me  out  upon  a 
mountain  shoulder  whence  I  looked  straight  away 
to  another  fall,  higher  and  wilder  by  much  than 
the  one  I  had  lately  seen.  Here,  then,  was  the 
Nevada,  to  many  minds  the  grandest  of  the  great 
four,  as  in  truth  it  must  be,  taking  the  months  to- 
gether. 

Now  there  was  nothing  for  it,  after  a  few  min- 
utes of  hesitation  (still  considering  my  years), 
but  I  must  keep  on,  down  to  the  river-level  again, 
after  all  this  labor  in  getting  above  it,  and  over 
another  bridge,  till  a  final  breathless,  sharper  and 
sharper  zigzag  brought  me  to  the  top,  where 
I  stood  gazing  from  above  at  an  indescribable, 
unimaginable  sight,  —  the  plunge  of  the  swollen 
river  over  a  sheer  precipice  to  a  huddle  of 
broken  rocks  six  hundred  feet  below. 
177 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

I  happened  to  be  fresh  from  a  few  days  at 
Niagara,  and,  moreover,  I  was  a  man  who  had  all 
his  life  taken  blame  to  himself  as  being  unwar- 
rantably, almost  disgracefully,  insensible  to  the 
charm  of  falling  water.  Nobody  would  ever  stand 
longer  than  I  to  muse  upon  a  brook  idling 
through  meadows  or  gurgling  over  pebbles  down 
a  gentle  slope  ;  and  the  narrower  it  was,  the  bet- 
ter it  was,  almost,  given  only  some  fair  measure 
of  clearness,  movement  enough  to  lend  it  here 
and  there  an  eddying  dirhple,  and,  most  of  all,  a 
look  of  being  perennial.  I  hold  in  loving  recollec- 
tion two  or  three  such  modest  streamlets,  and  at 
this  very  minute  can  seem  to  see  and  hear  them, 
dipping  smoothly  over  certain  well-remembered 
flat  boulders,  and  bearing  down  a  few  tufts  of 
wavering  sweet-flag  leaves.  Yes,  I  see  them  with 
all  plainness,  though  the  breadth  of  a  continent 
stretches  between  them  and  this  present  dwell- 
ing-place of  mine,  where  near  mountains  half 
circle  me  about  and  the  Pacific  surf  dashes  al- 
most against  my  doorstep,  but  where  there  is 
never  a  sound  of  running  water  all  the  long  sum- 
mer through.  Often  and  often  I  say  to  myself, 
"If  there  were  only  one  dear  Massachusetts 
brook,  to  make  the  charm  complete!  " 

But  with  all  this,  as  I  say,  I  had  always,  to 
my  own  surprise,  made  strangely  small  account 

178 


ON  FOOT   IN   THE  YOSEMITE 

of  our  boasted  New  England  cataracts ;  pleasant 
to  look  upon  they  might  be,  no  doubt,  but  hardly- 
worth  much  running  after.  And  now  these  falls 
of  the  Merced  and  its  larger  tributaries  had  taken 
me  by  storm.  Indeed  they  are  altogether  another 
story ;  as  little  to  be  compared  with  anything  in 
New  Hampshire  as  Flagstaff  Hill  on  Boston 
Common  is  to  be  set  beside  Mount  Washington. 
Merely  a  difference  in  degree  ?  Yes,  if  you  choose 
to  put  it  so ;  but  such  a  difference  in  degree  as 
amounts  fairly  to  a  difference  in  kind.  Imagine 
the  Merrimac  tumbling  over  the  face  of  a  ledge 
five  hundred,  six  hundred,  fifteen  hundred  feet 
high  !  And  the  Yosemite  Fall,  be  it  remembered, 
after  its  first  plunge  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  hundred 
feet,  makes  at  once  two  others  of  four  hundred 
and  six  hundred  feet  respectively.  In  other  words, 
it  drops  almost  plumb  from  an  altitude  nearly  as 
great  (as  great  within  six  hundred  feet)  as  that 
of  the  summit  of  Mount  Lafayette  above  the 
level  of  Profile  Notch.  And  furthermore,  it  is  to 
be  considered  that  the  water  does  not  slip  over 
the  edge  of  the  awful  cliff,  but  comes  to  it  at  head- 
long speed,  foaming  white,  having  been  crowded 
together  and  rounded  up  between  the  rocky  walls 
of  its  steep  and  narrow  bed,  exactly  as  the  Niag- 
ara River  is  in  the  rapids  above  the  whirlpool,  — 
which  rapids  are  to  my  apprehension,  as  I  sup- 
179 


FIELD-DAYS  IN   CALIFORNIA 

pose  they  are  to  most  men's,  hardly  a  whit  less 
astounding  than  the  Horseshoe  Fall  itself. 

This  wild  outward  leap  it  was  that  most  of  all 
impressed  me  when  more  than  once  I  stood  at 
the  top  of  the  Yosemite  Fall,  amazed  and  silent. 
But  that  was  some  time  later  than  the  day  now 
spoken  of,  and  must  be  left  for  mention  in  its 
turn. 

I  had  heard  before  coming  to  the  Valley,  and 
many  times  since,  that  the  one  place  excelling 
all  others  —  of  those,  that  is  to  say,  immediately 
above  the  Valley  wall,  and  so  falling  within  the 
range  of  ordinary  pedestrians  and  horseback  rid- 
ers—  was  Glacier  Point;  and  now,  having  given 
my  legs  and  wind  a  pretty  good  preliminary  test, 
I  inquired  of  the  camp-manager  how  difficult  the 
trail  to  that  point  might  be,  as  compared  with 
the  one  I  had  just  gone  over. 

"  I  should  call  it  twice  as  difficult,"  he  said, 
"though  not  so  long." 

The  answer  surprised,  and  for  the  moment  al- 
most disheartened  me.  Age  was  never  so  inop- 
portune, I  thought. 

"  But  anyhow,"  said  I,  "there  is  no  law  against 
my  having  a  look  at  the  beginning  of  the  way 
and  judging  of  its  possibilities  for  myself." 

And  the  very  next  morning,  being  apparently 
in  good  bodily  trim,  and  certainly  in  good  spirits, 
1 80 


ON  FOOT  IN   THE  YOSEMITE 

I  made  an  early  start.  The  trail  offered  at  least 
one  advantage  :  it  began  at  my  door,  with  no  six 
miles  of  superfluous  Valley  road  such  as  the  pre- 
vious day's  jaunt  had  burdened  me  with.  As  for 
its  unbroken  steepness,  that,  I  reasoned  with 
myself,  was  to  be  overcome  by  the  simple  expe- 
dient of  taking  it  in  short  steps  at  a  slow  pace. 

Well,  not  to  boast  of  what  is  not  at  all  boast- 
worthy  (Mr.  Galen  Clark,  ninety-five  years  old, 
—  may  God  bless  him,  he  was  always  showing 
me  kindness,  —  had  made  the  descent  unaccom- 
panied the  season  before,  though  you  would  never 
hear  him  tell  of  it),  I  reached  the  Point  in  slow 
time,  but  without  fatigue,  the  hours  having  been 
enlivened  by  the  frequent  presence  of  some  jovial 
members  of  the  California  Press  Club,  trailing 
one  behind  another,  who  by  turns  overtook  and 
were  overtaken  by  me  (the  tortoise  having  some- 
times the  better  of  it  for  a  little),  till  every  fresh 
encounter  became  matter  for  a  jest.  We  arrived 
in  company,  cutting  across  lots  over  the  hard 
snow  near  the  top,  and  then  there  was  no  taking 
of  no  for  an  answer.  Three  of  the  men  were  set 
upon  going  out  upon  the  celebrated  overhanging 
rock  —  three  thousand  feet,  more  or  less,  over 
empty  space  —  to  be  photographed,  and,  would 
he  or  would  n't  he,  the  old  "  Professor,"  as  with 
friendly  impudence,  meaning  no  disrespect,  they 
i8i 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

had  dubbed  him,  must  go  along  and  have  his  pic- 
ture taken  with  the  rest.  And  go  along  the  old 
professor  did,  keeping,  to  be  sure,  at  a  prudent 
remove  from  the  dizzy  edge,  though  he  flattered 
himself,  of  course,  that  only  for  not  choosing  to 
play  the  fool,  he  could  stand  as  near  it  as  the 
next  man.  This  pleasing  ceremony  done  with,  I 
was  left  to  go  my  own  gait,  and  then  my  enjoy- 
ment of  the  marvelous  place  began. 

A  good-natured  and  conversable  young  driver, 
who  had  picked  me  up  one  day  on  the  road, 
quizzed  me  as  to  what  I  thought  about  the  origin 
of  the  Valley ;  and  after  I  had  tried  to  set  forth 
in  outline  the  two  principal  opinions  of  geologists 
upon  the  subject,  not  understanding  them  any 
too  well  myself,  and  not  suspecting  what  a  philo- 
sopher I  had  to  do  with,  he  informed  me  that 
he  took  no  stock  in  either  of  them.  He  cared 
nothing  for  Whitney  or  Le  Conte  or  Muir.  No 
subsidence  theory  or  glacial  theory  for  him.  He 
believed  that  the  place  was  made  so  to  start  with, 
on  purpose  that  people  might  come  from  all  parts 
of  the  world  and  enjoy  it.  And  to-day,  as  I  moved 
about  the  rim  of  Glacier  Point  for  the  first  time, 
I  was  ready  to  say  with  equal  positiveness,  if  with 
something  less  of  serious  intention,  —  This  place 
was  made  for  prospects. 

If  I  doubted,  I  had  only  to  look  at  the  level 
182 


ON  FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

green  valley,  with  the  green  river  meandering 
through  it ;  at  the  wall  opposite,  so  variously 
grand  and  beautiful,  from  El  Capitan  to  the  Half 
Dome ;  and,  best  of  all,  at  the  Merced  Canon, 
as  seen  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  hotel,  with 
my  two  falls  of  the  day  before  in  full  sight  across 
it,  and  beyond  them  a  world  of  snowy  peaks,  a 
good  half  of  the  horizon  studded  with  them, 
lonely-looking  though  so  many,  and  stretching 
away  and  away  and  away,  till  they  faded  into  the 
invisible ;  a  magnificent  panorama  of  the  high 
Sierras,  minarets  and  domes,  obelisks  and  battle- 
mented  walls ;  such  a  spectacle  as  I  had  never 
thought  to  look  upon.  It  was  too  bad  I  could  not 
spend  the  night  with  it,  to  see  it  in  other  moods ; 
but  when  I  was  informed  that  the  hotel  would 
be  open  before  many  days,  I  consoled  myself 
with  the  promise  of  another  and  longer  visit. 

I  was  better  than  my  word.  Four  times  after- 
ward I  climbed  to  the  Point,  once  by  the  "long 
trail,"  via  Nevada  Fall  (which,  with  the  after- 
noon descent  over  the  short  trail  added,  really 
made  some  approximation  to  a  day's  work),  and 
altogether  I  passed  six  nights  there,  taking  in 
the  splendors  of  the  dawn  and  the  sunset,  and, 
for  the  rest,  ranging  more  or  less  about  the  in- 
viting snowy  woods.  One  afternoon  (May  23)  we 
were  favored  with  a  lively  snow-storm  of  several 

183 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

hours*  duration,  with  a  single  tremendous  thun- 
der-clap in  the  midst,  which  drove  three  young 
fellows  into  the  hotel-office  breathless  with  a  tale 
of  how  the  lightning  had  played  right  about  their 
heads  till  almost  they  gave  themselves  up  for  dead 
men ;  and  when  the  clouds  broke  away  little  by  lit- 
tle shortly  before  sunset,  the  shifting  views  of  the 
canon,  the  falls,  and  the  mountain  summits  near 
and  far,  were  such  as  put  one  or  two  amateur 
photographers  fairly  beside  themselves,  and  drove 
the  rest  of  us  to  silence  or  to  rapturous  exclama- 
tion according  as  the  powers  had  made  us  of  the 
quiet  or  the  noisy  kind.  Whatever  we  poor  mor- 
tals made  of  it,  it  was  a  wondrous  show. 

Thrice  I  went  to  the  top  of  Sentinel  Dome 
(eighty-one  hundred  feet),  an  easy  jaunt  from  the 
hotel,  though  just  at  this  time,  while  attempting 
it  in  treacherous  weather,  with  the  trail,  if  there 
be  one,  buried  under  the  winter  snow,  a  young 
tourist  became  bewildered  and  lost  his  life  —  van- 
ished utterly,  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  him. 
The  prospect  from  the  summit  is  magnificent,  if 
inferior,  as  I  think  it  is,  to  that  from  the  hotel 
piazza ;  and  the  place  itself  is  good  to  stand  on  : 
one  of  those  symmetrical,  broadly  rounded,  naked 
granite  domes,  so  highly  characteristic  of  the 
Sierras,  and  of  which  so  many  are  to  be  seen 
from  any  point  upon  the  Valley  rim.  Some 
184 


ON   FOOT    IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

agency  or  other,  once  having  the  pattern,  seems 
to  have  turned  them  out  by  the  score. 

One  day  I  looked  down  into  the  Fissures,  so 
called,  giddy,  suicide-provoking  rents ;  and  more 
than  once,  on  the  Wawona  road,  I  skirted  two  of 
those  beautiful  Sierra  Nevada  meadows,  so  feel- 
ingly celebrated  by  Mr.  Muir,  and  so  surprising 
and  grateful  to  all  new-comers  in  these  parts.  At 
this  moment  one  of  them  was  starred  with  thou- 
sands of  greenish-white  marsh  marigolds  —  Cal- 
tha  leptosepala^  as  I  learned  afterward  to  call  them, 
when  good  Mr.  Clark  produced,  out  of  his  treas- 
ures new  and  old,  for  my  enlightenment,  a  much- 
desiderated  copy  of  Brewer  and  Watson's  "  Bot- 
any of  California." 

After  the  two  trails  thus  "  negotiated,"  to  speak 
a  little  in  the  Western  manner,  there  remained 
one  that  by  all  accounts  was  steeper  and  harder 
still,  the  trail  to  Yosemite  Point,  or,  if  the  walker 
should  elect  to  travel  its  full  length,  to  Eagle 
Peak.  As  to  the  Peak,  I  doubted.  The  tale  of 
miles  sounded  long,  and  as  the  elevation  was  only 
seventy-eight  hundred  feet,  substantially  the 
same  as  that  of  Glacier  Point,  it  appeared  ques- 
tionable whether  the  distance  would  pay  for 
itself. 

^'  Oh,  the  trail  is  n't  difficult,"  a  neighborly- 
minded,  middle-aged  tourist  had  assured  me  (he 
i8s 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

spoke  of  the  trail  to  Yosemite  Point  only) ;  "  we 
made  it  between  breakfast  and  luncheon." 

But  they  had  made  it  on  horseback,  as  came 
out  a  minute  later,  which  somewhat  weakened 
the  argument.  Difficult  or  easy,  however  (and  if 
there  had  been  forty,  or  even  twenty,  less  years 
in  my  pack,  all  this  debate  concerning  distances 
and  grades  would  have  been  ridiculous),  to  Yo- 
semite Point  I  was  determined  to  go.  Once,  at 
least,  I  must  stand  upon  the  rocks  at  the  top  of 
that  stupendous  fall,  at  which  I  had  spent  so  many 
happy  half-hours  in  gazing.  And  stand  there  I 
did,  not  once,  but  thrice;  and  except  for  the 
Glacier  Point  outlook,  which  must  always  rank 
first,  I  enjoyed  no  other  Yosemite  experience 
quite  so  much.  So  I  speak;  yet  sometimes, 
while  loitering  downward  in  the  late  afternoon, 
I  sang  another  song.  "After  all,"  I  thought, 
"these  are  the  best  hours."  And  really  there  is 
no  reaching  any  final  verdict  in  matters  of  this 
nature,  so  much  depending  upon  mood  and  cir- 
cumstance. 

I  was  walking  in  the  shade  of  a  vertical  cliff  so 
near,  so  high,  so  overpowering  in  its  enormous 
proportions,  that  I  often  felt  it  to  be  more  im- 
pressive than  El  Capitan  itself;  and,  walking 
thus  in  deep  shadow,  I  looked  out  upon  a  world 
pf  bright  sunlight :  the  fall  at  my  side  ("  Oh,  I 
1 86 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

say,"  an  enthusiastic,  much-traveled  man  had  ex- 
claimed in  my  hearing,  "  it  beats  Niagara-  Yes, 
sir,  it  beats  Niagara !  "),  every  turn  of  the  path 
bringing  it  into  view  at  a  new  angle,  and,  as  it 
seemed,  to  increased  advantage ;  the  shining 
green  Valley,  with  its  jewel  of  a  river  ;  and  yon- 
der, up  in  the  sky,  all  those  illuminated  snowy 
Sierra  peaks.  Well,  I  could  only  stop  and  look, 
and  stop  and  look  again,  rejoicing  to  be  alive. 

As  for  Eagle  Peak,  with  its  two  or  three  extra 
miles,  before  the  business  was  over  (after  the  way 
thither  became  dry  enough  to  be  passable  without 
wading)  I  had  paid  it  four  visits.  The  Peak  itself 
offered  no  transcendent  attraction,  but  the  trail 
proved  to  be  at  once  so  comfortable  and  so  very 
much  to  my  mind,  that,  once  at  the  end  of  the 
sharp  zigzags,  and  on  the  level  of  the  river  above 
the  fall,  it  seemed  impossible  not  to  keep  on,  — 
just  this  once  more,  I  always  promised  myself; 
such  pleasure  I  took  in  the  forest  of  stately  pines 
and  firs,  the  multitude  of  wild  flowers  by  the 
way,  and  in  another  and  more  extensive  of  those 
fair  mountain  meadows  (natural  grassy  meads, 
green  as  emerald,  shining  in  the  sun  amidst  the 
dark  evergreen  forest),  along  the  border  of  which 
the  winding  trail  carried  me.  In  this  were  no 
marsh  marigolds,  but  instead  a  generous  sprink- 
ling of  sunbright  buttercups,  while  a  pool  in  the 
187 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

midst  was  covered  with  lily-pads  and  yellow 
spatter-dock  lilies,  —  old  New  England  friends 
whose  homely  faces  were  trebly  welcome  in  these 
far-off  California  altitudes. 

I  never  approached  the  meadow  —  which  melt- 
ing snowbanks  all  about  still  rendered  impossible 
of  dry-shod  exploration  —  without  pleasing  anti- 
cipation of  deer.  They  must  frequent  it  I  thought ; 
but  I  looked  for  them  in  vain.  The  curiously  dis- 
tinctive slow  drum-taps  of  an  invisible  William- 
son sapsucker,  a  true  Sierran,  handsomest  of  the 
handsome,  were  always  to  be  counted  upon ; 
swallows  and  swifts  went  skimming  over  the 
grass ;  robins  and  snowbirds  flitted  about ;  but  if 
deer  ever  came  this  way,  it  was  not  down  in  the 
books  for  me  to  find  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  trail,  after  a  tedious  gravelly 
slope,  where  I  remember  a  close  bed  of  the  pretty 
mountain  phlox,  with  thin  remnants  of  a  snowdrift 
no  more  than  a  rod  or  two  above  it,  there  re- 
mained a  brief  clamber  over  huge  boulders,  with 
tufts  of  gorgeous  pink  pentstemon  growing  in 
such  scanty  deposits  of  coarse  soil  as  the  deso- 
late, unpromising  situation  afforded,  —  the  scant- 
ier the  better,  as  it  seemed,  for  this  clever  econo- 
mist is  a  lover  of  rocks  if  ever  there  was  one.  It 
was  to  be  found  in  all  directions,  in  the  Valley 
and  on  the  heights,  but  never  anywhere  except 
i88 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

in  the  most  inhospitable-looking,  impossible-look- 
ing of  stony  places.  And  out  of  a  few  grains  of 
powdered  granite  it  manages  somehow  to  extract 
the  wherewithal  not  merely  upon  which  to  sub- 
sist, but  for  the  putting-forth  of  as  bright  a  pro- 
fusion of  exquisite  bloom  as  the  sun  ever  shone 
upon. 

The  outlook  from  the  topmost  boulder  of  this 
Titan's  cairn,  for  it  looked  like  nothing  else,  was 
commanding,  —  valley,  river,  and  mountain,—, 
but  to  me,  as  I  have  said,  the  Peak  was  mainly 
of  use  as  the  conclusion  of  a  walk  through  an 
enchanting  Sierra  forest  ;  for  I,  no  less  than  my 
fellows,  have  yet  to  outgrow  the  primitive  need 
of  "  a  place  to  go  to,"  even  when  I  go  mostly  for 
what  is  to  be  enjoyed  by  the  way. 

So  much  for  what  might  be  more  strictly  ac- 
counted as  climbs  to  the  valley  rim.  More  weari- 
some, perhaps,  because  quite  as  long,  while  with- 
out the  counterbalancing  stimulation  which  a 
mountain  trail  seems  always,  out  of  its  own  vir- 
tue, to  communicate,  were  an  indefinite  number 
of  jaunts  to  Inspiration  Point  (hateful  name!) 
and  into  the  forest  a  mile  or  two  beyond. 

Precisely  why  I  expended  so  much  labor  upon 

the  long  miles  of  this  dusty  uphill  road,  it  might 

be  troublesome  todetermine  ;  but  here,  also,  there 

were  so  many  things  to  be  looked  at,  and  so  many 

189 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

others  to  be  hoped  for,  that  the  going  thither 
about  once  in  so  many  days  grew  little  by  little 
into  something  like  a  habit.  Between  the  moist  riv- 
er-bank and  the  dry  hillside,  what  a  procession  of 
beautiful  and  interesting  wild  flowers  the  pro- 
gress of  the  season  led  before  me !  And  if  many 
of  them  seemed  to  be  the  same  as  I  had  known 
in  the  East,  they  were  certain  to  be  the  same 
with  a  difference  :  dogwood  and  azalea  (blossom- 
laden  azalea  hedges  by  the  mile) ;  tall  columbines 
and  lilies ;  yellow  violets  and  blue  larkspurs ; 
salmon-berry  and  mariposa  tulips ;  an  odd-looking 
dwarf  convolvulus,  not  observed  elsewhere  ;  the 
famous  blood-red  snow-plant,  which  there  was 
reported  to  be  a  heavy  fine  for  picking;  and 
whole  gardens  of  tiny,  high-colored,  fairy  like 
blossoms,  kind  after  kind  and  color  after  color, 
growing  mostly  in  separate  parterres,  "  ground- 
flowers  in  flocks,"  and  veritable  gems  for  bright- 
ness, over  which,  in  my  ignorance,  I  could  only 
stand  and  wonder. 

Of  birds,  as  compared  with  plants,  the  walk 
might  offer  little  in  the  line  of  novelty,  but  such 
as  it  did  offer,  taking  old  and  new  together,  they 
were  always  enough  to  keep  a  man  alive ;  a  pair 
of  golden  eagles,  for  instance,  soaring  in  the  blue, 
—  a  display  of  aviation,  as  we  say  in  these  pro- 
gressive days,  fitted  to  provoke  the  most  earth- 
190 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE    YOSEMITE 

bound  spirit  to  envy ;  a  pair  of  violet-green  swal- 
lows, loveliest  of  the  swallow  tribe,  never  so 
busy,  hastening  in  and  out  of  an  old  wood- 
pecker's hole  in  a  stunted  wayside  oak  ;  tiny 
hummingbirds,  of  course,  by  name  Calliope, 
wearing  the  daintiest  of  fan-shaped,  cherry- 
colored  gorgets,  true  mountaineers,  every  soul  of 
them,  fearless  of  frost  and  snow,  if  only  the  man- 
zanita  bells  would  hold  out ;  and,  in  particular, 
a  sooty  grouse,  who  nearly  put  my  neck  out  of  joint 
before  —  after  a  good  half-hour,  at  least  —  I 
finally  caught  sight  of  him  as  he  hitched  about 
in  his  leafy  hiding-place  near  the  top  of  a  tall  pine 
tree,  complaining  by  the  hour.  Booniy  boom^  boom^ 
boo-boontf  boom,  boom,  so  the  measure  ran,  with 
that  odd  grace  note  invariably  preceding  the  fourth 
syllable,  as  if  it  were  a  point  of  conscience  with 
the  performer  that  it  should  stand  just  there  and 
nowhere  else.  A  forlorn,  moping  kind  of  amorous 
ditty,  it  sounded  to  me  ;  most  unmusical,  most 
melancholy,  though  perhaps  I  had  no  call  to 
criticize. 

"  Hark,  from  the  pines  a  doleful  sound. 
My  ears  attend  the  cry,"  — 

so  my  old-fashioned,  orthodox  memory   fell  to 

repeating,  while  the  hollow,  sepulchral  notes  grew 

fainter  and  fainter  with  distance  as  I  walked 

191 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

away.  Yet  I  might  appropriately  enough  have 
envied  the  fellow  his  altitudinous  position,  if 
nothing  else,  remembering  how  grand  and  almost 
grown-up  a  certain  small  Massachusetts  boy  used 
to  feel  as  he  surveyed  the  world  from  a  perch 
not  half  so  exalted,  in  what  to  his  eyes  was  about 
the  tallest  pine  tree  in  the  world,  up  in  his 
father's  pasture. 

The  most  curiously  unique  of  Yosemite  plants, 
to  my  thinking,  is  the  California  nutmeg  tree, 
Torreya  califomica.  I  ignore,  for  sufficient  rea- 
son, the  different  generic  designation  adopted  in 
some  books  more  recent  than  the  work  of  Brewer 
and  Watson.  So  far  as  my  word  goes,  my  dis- 
tinguished   th  cousin  shall  not  be  robbed  of 

his  one  genus.  Mr.  Clark,  who  remembered  Dr. 
Torrey's  and  Dr.  Gray's  visits  to  the  tree,  and 
whose  sympathetic  account  of  the  affectionate 
relations  subsisting  between  these  two  scholars 
was  deeply  interesting,  instructed  me  where  to 
look  for  the  nearest  examples,  at  a  point  below 
the  Cascades,  —  some  eight  miles  down  the  El 
Portal  road,  —  and  I  devoted  a  long  day  to  the 
making  of  their  acquaintance. 

It  was  the  twentieth  of  June,  the  weather  had 

turned  summerish,    and  the   road,    which    had 

been  as  dusty  as  possible — a  disgrace  to  the 

nation  that  owns  it — five  or  six  weeks  before, 

192 


ON  FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

when  I  entered  the  Valley,  was  by  this  time 
very  much  dustier.  But  the  river,  hastening  from 
the  mountains  to  the  sea,  was  close  at  my  side, 
garrulous  of  thoughts  and  fancies,  histories  and 
dreams,  and  between  it  and  the  birds,  the  trees, 
and  the  innumerable  wild  flowers,  I  must  have 
been  a  dull  stick  not  to  be  abundantly  entertained. 
An  ouzel,  fishing  for  something  on  the  flat,  in- 
clined surface  of  a  broad  boulder  in  midstream, 
just  where  the  rapids  were  wildest,  was  com- 
pelled to  spring  into  the  air  every  minute  or  so  as 
a  sudden  big  wave  threatened  to  carry  it  away. 
It  seemed  to  be  playing  with  death ;  once  fairly 
caught  in  that  mad  whirl,  and  nothing  could 
save  it.  Again  and  again  I  looked  to  see  it  go, 
as  the  angry  waters  clutched  at  it ;  but  it  was 
always  a  shaving  too  quick  for  them.  Syringa 
and  calycanthus  (**  sweet-shrub  " — faintly  ill- 
scented!)  were  in  blossom,  and  the  brilliant  pink 
godetia  —  a  name  which  may  suggest  nothing  to 
the  Eastern  reader,  but  which  to  an  old  Califor- 
nian  like  myself  stands  for  all  that  is  brightest 
and  showiest  in  parched  wayside  gardens  — 
never  made  a  more  effective  display  ;  and  all  in 
all,  though  I  had  walked  over  the  longer  part  of 
the  same  road  within  twenty-four  hours,  the  day 
was  a  pure  delight.  If  it  gains  a  little  something 
in  the  retrospect,  it  is  all  the  more  like  a  picture, 
193 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

—  which  must  be  framed  and  hung  at  a  suitable 
distance  before  we  truly  see  it. 

The  trees  of  which  I  had  come  in  search  were 
recognizable  at  a  glance  ;  the  leaves,  of  a  remark- 
ably vivid  green,  bearing  a  strong  resemblance 
to  those  of  the  hemlock,  but  sharp  as  needles, 
as  if  to  cry  ''Hands  off  !  "  the  flaky  gray  bark, 
most  incongruously  like  that  of  some  kind  of 
white  oak  ;  while  the  green  fruits,  prettily  spaced 
ornamental  pendants,  were  really  for  shape  and 
size  not  a  little  like  nutmegs  :  a  surprising  crop, 
surely,  to  be  hanging  amid  such  foliage.  The 
largest  of  the  few  examples  that  I  saw  (they  grow 
plentifully  along  the  road  a  little  farther  down, 
and  may  be  picked  out  readily  from  a  carriage- 
seat,  as  I  discovered  later)  might  have  been,  I 
thought,  about  fifty  feet  in  height. 

This  tree  (the  species,  I  mean),  whose  only 
congeners  are  found  in  Florida,  China,  and  Japan, 
may  be  considered  as  one  of  four  that  lend  a 
notable  distinction  to  the  Californian  silva,  the 
others  being  the  Torrey  pine,  the  Monterey  pine, 
and  the  Monterey  cypress.  No  one  of  them  occurs 
anywhere  in  the  world  outside  of  California,  and 
the  nutmeg  is  the  only  member  of  the  quartette 
that  ventures  more  than  a  few  miles  inland. 
Stranded  species  we  may  assume  them  to  be, 
formerly  of  wider  range,  but  now  —  how  or  why 
194 


ON   FOOT  IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

there  is  none  to  inform  us  —  surviving  only 
within  these  extraordinarily  narrow  Hmits.  For 
my  part,  having  seen  the  other  three,  I  would 
cheerfully  have  walked  twice  as  far  to  look 
upon,  and  put  my  hands  upon,  this  fourth  one, 
in  its  characters  the  most  strikingly  original  of 
them  all. 

The  most  exciting  thing  found  at  Inspiration 
Point,  however,  not  forgetting  a  transient  even- 
ing grosbeak,  whose  transiency,  by  the  bye,  ab- 
solute novelty  that  he  was,  drove  me  well-nigh 
frantic,  for  with  a  flash  of  white  wings  he  was 
gone  almost  before  I  could  say  I  had  seen  him, 
—  my  most  exciting  thing  was  no  bird,  not  even 
this  proudly  dressed,  long-sought  stranger,  but  a 
bear.  I  was  passing  a  thicket  of  low  ceanothus 
bushes,  an  almost  impenetrable  natural  hedge 
bordering  the  road,  when  I  was  startled  by  a  sud- 
den commotion  as  of  some  large  animal  scram- 
bling hurriedly  out  of  it  on  the  farther  side, 
directly  opposite.  A  deer,  I  thought,  but  the  next 
instant  I  saw  it,  —  a  brown  bear ;  and  in  another 
instant  my  field-glass  was  focused  upon  it  as  it 
ran  or  walked  (I  could  not  have  told  which  five 
minutes  afterward — such  virtue  resides  in  eye- 
witness testimony)  away  from  me  up  the  slope. 
Then,  at  ten  or  twelve  rods*  distance,  as  I  guessed, 
it  halted  and  faced  about  to  look  at  the  intruder  ; 
195 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

after  which  it  took  to  its  awkward  legs  again,  and 
shambled  out  of  sight  amid  the  underbrush. 

Henceforward,  of  course,  I  had  new  motives  for 
heading  my  day's  tramp  this  way  :  I  might  see 
the  bear  again,  or,  better  still,  the  grosbeak.  But 
I  never  caught  a  second  glimpse  of  either,  though 
once  I  must  have  been  at  comfortably  close  quarters 
with  the  bear,  to  judge  by  certain  asthmatic,  half- 
grunting  noises  that  reached  me  out  of  the  wood. 

Of  my  own  knowledge,  it  is  fair  to  admit,  I  could 
not  have  presumed  to  speak  with  even  this  lim- 
ited measure  of  assurance  concerning  the  author- 
ship of  the  noises  in  question  ;  but  an  old  guide, 
to  whom  I  described  them  shortly  afterward, 
responded  at  once,  ''A  bear  "  ;  and  old  Sierra  Ne- 
vada guides,  I  feel  sure,  are  reasonably  competent 
to  speak  upon  that  branch  of  natural  history,  al- 
though, what  is  not  surprising,  I  have  not  always 
found  them  deeply  versed  in  matters  ornithologi- 
cal. One  of  the  best  of  them,  for  example,  a  man 
with  whom  I  often  found  it  profitable  to  hold  con- 
verse, when  I  called  his  attention  to  a  water-ouzel's 
nest  under  one  of  the  bridges,  to  which  the  anx- 
ious mother,  regardless  of  frequent  passers  over- 
head, was  hurrying  every  few  minutes  with  an- 
other morsel  of  food  gleaned  from  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  answered,  "  Yes,  I  have  noticed  it, 
—  a  robin's  nest." 

196 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

"  A  robin's  nest !"  said  I.  "  No,  indeed.  Haven't 
you  seen  the  bird  diving  headfirst,  Hke  a  naked 
schoolboy,  off  that  stump  yonder. 

''Why,  yes,"  said  the  guide,  ''I  've  often  seen 
her  diving  into  the  water ;  but  I  supposed  she  was 
a  robin." 

On  my  questioning  him  further  he  gave  it  as 
his  opinion  that  there  might  be  half  a  dozen  kinds 
of  birds  about  the  Valley,  and  he  was  mightily 
astonished  when  I  informed  him  that  even  in  my 
brief  stay  I  had  counted  more  than  eighty.  And 
still  I  believe  he  would  know  a  bear  when  he  saw 
it,  or  a  bear's  grunt  when  he  heard  it ;  for  bears, 
naturally  enough,  —  being  so  much  larger,  for  one 
thing,  —  are  more  generally  popular  than  birds 
among  men  of  his  way  of  life  and  thought. 

His  notion  of  the  robin  as  a  natatorial  per- 
former, by  the  bye,  recalls  something  that  hap- 
pened lately  to  a  friend  of  mine,  an  ornithologist 
of  national  reputation.  He  was  on  a  first  visit 
to  southern  California,  and  was  walking  one  day 
with  a  lady,  a  recent  acquaintance,  when  she  sud- 
denly exclaimed  :  — 

"Oh,  Mr.  A.,  you  were  wishing  to  see  road- 
runners.  There  they  are,  a  whole  flock  of  them, 
on  the  beach." 

"Those  }  "  said  Mr.  A.,  a  man  of  distinguished 
native  politeness, —  like  ornithologists  in  gen- 
197 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

eral, "  why,   I   have  been  taking  those   for 

gulls." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  lady,  "they  are  road- 


runners." 


"  But,"  said  Mr.  A.,  still  unconvinced,  I  sup- 
pose, but  still  polite,  "  I  understood  that  road- 
runners  were  to  be  looked  for  on  the  dry  uplands." 

"Oh,  no,"  insisted  the  lady,  who  had  no  objec- 
tion to  instructing  a  specialist ;  "  you  '11  always 
find  them,  plenty  of  them,  right  along  the  shore." 

And  there  the  lessson  ended. 

"  Keep  your  ears  open,  my  son,"  said  a  wise  man, 
"  and  in  process  of  time  you  may  get  to  know 
something." 

Inspiration  Point,  as  its  name  implies  ("  Per- 
spiration Point,"  a  profane  young  fellow  called  it 
one  day,  as  he  halted  near  me,  puffing  for  breath 
and  mopping  his  forehead),  is  justly  renowned 
for  its  prospect  of  the  Valley,  which  here— where 
in  the  old  days  the  visitor  used  first  to  see  it  — 
lies  visible  in  all  its  loveliness  and  grandeur  almost 
from  end  to  end.  This  enchanting  prospect  I 
would  stop  to  enjoy,  while  eating  my  luncheon, 
after  a  visit  among  the  marvelous  sugar  pines 
(whose  long,  outstretched  arms  seemed  always  to 
be  blessing  the  world,  as  I  am  sure  they  blessed 
me)  in  the  forest  a  mile  or  two  beyond. 

Sometimes,  one  day  of  days  in  particular,  the 
198 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

lights  and  shadows  favored  me  to  an  extraordi- 
nary degree,  and  I  realized  anew  how  fond  I  am, 
and  have  been  ever  since  a  winter  on  the  Arizona 
Desert,  with  the  Santa Catalina Mountains  always 
before  me,  of  what  I  am  accustomed  to  call,  affec- 
tionately, ''illuminated  grays."  At  such  hours 
Cloud's  Rest  and  Half  Dome,  which  from  this 
point  seem  to  close  the  Valley,  were  of  a  ravish- 
ingly  lustrous,  silvery  whiteness,  set  in  fine  relief 
by  contrast  with  the  dark  vegetation-clad  slope 
that  ran,  or  seemed  to  run,  from  Sentinel  Dome 
down  to  the  valley-level.  This  distant  luminous 
gray  is  the  chief  beauty  of  bare  granite ;  and  a 
very  great  beauty  it  is.  I  believe  it  would  be 
impossible  for  me  ever  to  weary  of  it,  more  than 
of  the  beauty  of  level  green  meadows  (or  brown 
meadows,  either),  or  of  a  deciduous  New  Hamp- 
shire forest  looked  upon  from  above. 

I  alluded  to  myself  just  now  as  an  old  Calif or- 
nian,  and  as  far  as  my  standing  in  the  Yosemite 
was  concerned  I  might  have  said,  without  jesting, 
that  before  I  had  been  there  three  weeks  I  had 
come  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  its  oldest  inhabi- 
tants ;  and  this  (which  was  the  painful  part  of  it) 
in  a  double  sense.  Again  and  again  I  overheard 
the  guides  speak  of  ''that  old  man."  "I  meet 
that  old  man  everywhere,"  one  of  them  would 
say.  (They  took  it  for  granted,  apparently,  that, 
199 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

with  all  the  rest,  I  must  be  a  little  hard  of  hear- 
ing.) It  seemed  a  thing  against  the  order  of 
nature,  I  suppose,  that  the  wearer  of  such  a 
beard  should  be  so  continually  on  his  legs ;  and 
especially  that  he  should  be  trudging  to  the  same 
places,  so  high  up  and  so  far  off,  for  the  second  or 
third  time. 

On  one  occasion,  when  I  was  halfway  up  the 
Glacier  Point  trail,  I  met  a  company  of  men  and 
women  coming  down,  and  one  of  the  more  ma- 
tronly of  the  women  kindly  lingered  to  pass  the 
time  of  day  with  the  stranger.  Did  n't  he  find 
the  trail  pretty  steep  ?  she  inquired.  And  when 
he  told  her  at  what  a  moderate  pace  he  was  tak- 
ing it,  and  that  he  purposed  remaining  at  the  sum- 
mit overnight,  she  patted  him  affectionately  on 
the  shoulder  (such  liberties  will  the  most  vir- 
tuous female  sometimes  take  when  exhilarated 
by  a  mountain  atmosphere),  and  assured  him  that 
he  was  behaving  very  sensibly.  He  knew  that 
he  was,  but  it  comforted  him  to  have  her  tell 
him  so. 

Again,  in  the  middle  of  my  hardest  day's  work, 
as  I  began  a  rather  tiresome  long  ascent  follow- 
ing a  brief  level  space  at  the  head  of  Nevada 
Fall,  two  young  fellows  with  fishing-rods  came 
suddenly  round  a  bend  in  front,  —  on  the  way  to 
Little  Yosemite,  it  seemed  likely,  —  and  as  the 
200 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

leader  caught  sight  of  me  he  broke  out :  "  Well, 
old  boy,  you  've  got  quite  a  trip  before  you.  Yes, 
sir,  it 's  quite  a  trip."  And  with  that  he  pro- 
ceeded to  enlarge  upon  the  theme  with  no  little 
earnestness,  evidently  considering  it  a  matter  of 
great  uncertainty  whether  so  ancient  a  mariner 
would  ever  come  to  port. 

And  yet  I  was  no  Methuselah,  I  inwardly  pro- 
tested.   If   I  was    "goin'   on   ty,"   which    I 

could  not  deny,  I  had  still  a  few  laps  to  make  be- 
fore passing  finally  under  the  wire. 

And  if  it  surprised  other  people  that  a  man 
should  stay  here  so  long  and  repeat  his  walks  so 
often,  it  was  perhaps  an  equal  surprise  to  him 
that  so  many  well-dressed,  intelligent-appearing 
persons,  finding  themselves  surrounded  with  all 
this  grandeur,  should  be  contented  to  stare 
about  them  for  a  day  or  two,  expend  a  few  ex- 
pletives, snap  a  camera  at  this  and  that,  and 
anon  be  off  again. 

One  man,  it  is  true,  gave  me  what  I  had  to  con- 
fess might  be,  in  his  case,  a  valid  excuse  for  brevity. 
A  Southern  gentleman  he  was,  as  I  should  have 
divined  at  once  from  the  engaging,  softly  mus- 
ical quality  of  his  voice.  He  began  with  some 
question  about  a  squirrel, — which  had  surprised 
him  by  running  into  a  hole  in  the  ground,  —  and 
after  a  word  or  two  more  called  my  attention  to 

201 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

a  little  bunch  of  wild  roses  which  he  carried  in 
his  hand.  They  were  fragrant,  he  said  ;  had  I  ever 
noticed  it  ?  And  when  I  remarked  that  I  should 
have  supposed  them  to  be  common  in  Tennessee, 
he  explained  that  at  home  he  never  went  to 
places  where  such  things  were  to  be  looked  for. 
He  had  discovered  the  perfume  of  wild  roses  as 
Thoreau  discovered  the  sweetness  of  white  oak 
acorns,  I  thought  to  myself,  and  so  far  was  in 
good  company.  Then  he  told  me  that  he  had 
arrived  in  the  Valley  on  the  noon  of  the  day  be- 
fore, had  found  it  grand  and  beautiful  beyond  all 
his  dreams,  —  "  ravishing"  was  one  of  his  words, 
—  and  was  going  out  again,  not  of  necessity  but 
from  choice,  that  very  afternoon.  I  manifested 
a  natural  surprise,  and  he  explained  that  he 
"did  n't  wish  to  lose  the  thrill."  He  had  seen  the 
picture  once  and,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
was  following  Emerson's  advice  never  to  look  at 
it  again.  So  this  time,  too,  he  was  in  excellent 
company. 

For  my  part,  I  cannot  afford  to  be  so  sparing 
in  my  use  of  good  things.  My  aesthetic  faculty, 
it  would  appear,  is  less  prompt  than  some  other 
men's.  Its  method  is  not  so  much  an  act  as  a 
process.  In  the  appreciation  of  natural  scenery, 
at  all  events,  as  I  have  before  now  confessed,  I 
am  not  apt  to  get  very  far,  comparatively  speak- 

202 


ON   FOOT   IN   THE   YOSEMITE 

ing,  on  the  first  day.  I  must  have  time, —  time 
and  a  liberal  chance  for  repetition.  And  in  the 
Yosemite,  which  is  as  rich  in  modest  loveliness 
as  in  spectacular  grandeur,  a  fact  of  which  far 
too  little  is  made,  I   know  perfectly  well  that 
there  are  countless  beauties  which  I  have  never 
seen  (more  and  more  of  them  were  coming  to 
light  up  to  my  very  last  day),  as  well  as  countless 
others  that  I  should  rejoice  to  see  again,  or, 
better  still,  to  live  with.  Give  me  the  opportun- 
ity, say  I,  and  I  will  cheerfully  risk  all  danger  of 
disillusion,  or,  as  my  friend  of  the  wild  roses 
more  feelingly  expressed  it,   the  ^Moss  of   the 
thrill." 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE   GRAND 
CANON 

THE  bird-gazer  is  peculiar.  This  is  not 
spoken  of  bird-gazers  in  general,  who  may 
be  much  like  other  people,  for  aught  we  know, 
but  of  a  certain  particular  member  of  the  fra- 
ternity, the  adventures  of  whose  mind  in  the  face 
of  one  of  the  undisputed  wonders  of  the  world 
are  here  to  be  briefly  recounted. 

He  is  a  lover  of  scenery.  At  least,  he  so  re- 
gards himself.  As  he  goes  about  among  his  fel- 
lows, he  finds  few  who  spend  more  time,  or  seem 
to  experience  more  delight,  in  looking  at  the 
beauty  that  surrounds  them.  He  would  not  rank 
himself,  of  course,  with  the  eloquent  speciaHsts  in 
this  Hne,  —  with  Wordsworth  or  Thoreau,  to  cite 
two  widely  dissimilar  examples  ;  but,  as  compared 
with  the  general  run  of  more  or  less  intelligent 
men,  he  seldom  finds  occasion  to  feel  ashamed 
of  himself  for  anything  like  indifierence  to  the 
"goings-on  of  earth  and  sky."  He  is  as  likely  as 
almost  any  one  he  knows  to  consume  a  half-hour 
over  a  sunset,  or  to  sit  a  long  while  under  the 
charm  of  a  Massachusetts  meadow  or  a  New 
Hampshire  valley.  Common  beauty  appeals  to 
204 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE   CANON 

him.  His  spirit  is  refreshed  by  it.  He  relishes  it, 
to  use  a  word  that  he  himself  uses  often.  But 
with  all  this  (and  here  we  come  to  the  peculiarity), 
the  exceptional  and  the  stupendous  are  apt  to 
leave  him  comparatively  unaffected.  As  he  says 
sometimes,  meaning,  perhaps,  to  justify  his  eccen- 
tricity, he  admires  the  grace  of  the  human  figure, 
but  takes  no  particular  interest  in  giants  or  dwarfs. 
These  excite  curiosity,  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
for  his  part  he  would  not  go  far  out  of  his  way  to 
stare  at  them. 

The  comparison  is  rather  beside  the  mark.  He 
would  own  as  much  himself.  Indeed,  he  had 
come  a  long  distance  out  of  his  way  to  see  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado.  But,  after  all,  to 
hear  some  of  the  things  he  began  by  saying  about 
it  (though  you  would  not  have  heard  them,  since 
he  had  the  discretion  to  say  them  to  himself), 
you  might  have  inferred  that  this  stupendous  rift 
in  the  earth's  surface  was  to  him,  for  the  mo- 
ment, at  least,  a  something  rather  monstrous 
than  beautiful. 

He  reached  the  Cailon  on  a  bright  Saturday 
morning  in  December.  All  day  Thursday  he  had 
ridden  over  the  prairies  of  Kansas,  gazing  out 
of  the  car  window,  and  repeating  with  "  relish  " 
Stevenson's  line,  — 

"  Under  the  wide  and  starry  sky." 
205 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

There  were  no  stars  in  sight,  naturally  enough, 
but  that  did  not  concern  him.  It  was  the  word 
"wide"  that  pleased  his  imagination.  Whether 
he  should  die  gladly  when  the  time  came,  as  Ste- 
venson felt  so  sure  of  doing,  he  was  unprepared 
to  say ;  but  for  the  present  hour,  at  any  rate,  he 
was  living  gladly,  profoundly  enjoying  the  sense 
of  vastness  with  which  that  wide  Kansas  sky  in- 
spired him.  A  wide  sky  it  surely  was,  with  scarcely 
so  much  as  an  apple  tree  to  narrow  it.  As  often 
as  not  there  was  nothing  to  point  the  horizon  but 
a  haycock  or  two  an  unknown  number  of  miles 
away. 

Some  of  his  traveling  companions  seemed  to 
find  the  prospect  depressing,  and  the  day  of  the 
longest,  but  the  bird-gazer  passed  the  hours  in 
surprising  content.  He  almost  believed  that  he 
should  like  to  live  in  Kansas,  New  England  High- 
lander though  he  is.  Unbroken  horizons  appeared 
to  agree  with  him. 

At  midnight,  or  thereabout,  he  woke  to  hear 
the  engines  puffing  as  if  out  of  breath.  The  grade 
must  be  steep.  Unless  he  was  deceived,  he  could 
feel  the  inclination  of  the  car  as  he  lay  in  bed. 
Then  up  went  the  curtain.  Hills  loomed  all  about, 
with  here  and  there  a  solitary  pine  tree  standing 
in  the  moonlight  like  a  sentry.  "  You  are  in  Col- 
orado," one  of  them  said ;  and  the  gazer  knew  it. 
206 


A   BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE   CANON 

No  more  prairie.  The  earth  was  all  heaved  up 
into  hills.  And  just  then  the  train  ran  into  the 
darkness  of  a  tunnel,  and  when  it  emerged,  the 
traveler  was  in  New  Mexico. 

All  that  day  he  journeyed  among  hills,  now 
near,  now  far,  now  high,  now  low,  now  wooded, 
now  bare  as  so  many  gravel  heaps  ("not  moun- 
tains, just  buttes,"  a  train-hand  told  him),  now  in 
ranges,  now  solitary.  Indian  villages,  a  long  run 
along  the  Rio  Grande,  a  stop  at  Albuquerque, 
brilliantly  colored  cliffs  and  crags,  a  gorgeous 
sunset,  —  indeed,  it  was  a  memorable,  many-fea- 
tured day.  And  in  the  morning,  after  miles  of  level 
pine  forest,  —  the  Coconino  Plateau,  —  he  was  at 
the  Grand  Canon,  where  he  had  desired  to  be. 

He  was  not  disappointed.  Wise  men  seldom 
are.  He  had  known  perfectly  well  that  he  should 
not  see  the  wonder  and  glory  of  the  place  at  a 
first  look.  His  mind  is  slow,  and  he  has  lived 
with  it  long  enough  to  have  learned  a  little  of  its 
weakness.  The  Canon  was  astounding,  unspeak- 
able. Words  were  never  made  that  could  express 
it.  And  the  shapes  and  the  colors  !  "  Magnifi- 
cent !  Magnificent !  "  he  said.  "  But  it  is  too  much 
like  the  pictures.  I  must  wait  till  they  have  been 
forgotten,  and  I  can  see  the  Caiion  for  itself." 

So  he  wandered  off  into  the  woods,  an  endless 
forest  of  pines  and  cedars.  Perhaps  he  should 
207 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

find  a  bird  or  two.  And  so  it  was ;  he  had  gone 
but  a  little  way  before  he  came  upon  a  flock  of 
snowbirds.  But  they  were  not  the  snowbirds  he 
was  accustomed  to  see  in  New  England.  Some 
among  them  had  black  heads  and  breasts,  with 
rather  dull  brown  backs,  and  a  suffusion  of  the 
same  color  along  the  sides  of  the  body.  Lovely 
creatures  they  were  ;  perfectly  natural,  —  true 
snowbirds  to  anybody's  eye,  —  yet  recognizable 
instantly  as  something  quite  new  and  strange. 
And  some  were  all  of  an  exquisite  soft  gray,  as 
well  above  as  below,  except  that  they  had  bright 
chestnut-brown  backs  and  black  lores,  —  that  is 
to  say,  a  black  spot  on  each  side  of  the  head  be- 
tween the  eye  and  the  bill.  These  were  neater 
even  than  the  others,  if  that  were  possible,  and 
decidedly  more  striking  a  novelty.  Our  pilgrim 
was  at  once  in  high  spirits.  What  bird-man  but 
would  have  been  ?  On  getting  back  to  the  hotel 
and  the  Handbook,  he  would  know  what  to  call 
his  new  acquaintances.  So  he  promised  himself ; 
but  as  things  turned  out,  the  question  was  not 
so  simple  as  he  had  assumed.  He  was  obliged  to 
see  the  black-headed  one  (the  Sierra  junco)  again 
to  make  sure  of  a  detail  he  had  omitted  to  note ; 
while  as  for  the  gray  one,  it  was  not  till  he  had 
studied  the  birds  and  the  book  for  two  days  that 
he  was  fully  settled  how  to  name  it. 
208 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE   CANON 

The  race  of  juncos  is  highly  variable  in  this 
Western  country  (eleven  species  and  subspecies), 
and  there  were  several  nice  points  demanding 
attention.     Luckily  the  birds   could   always   be 
found  with  a  little  searching;  and  the  oftener 
they  were  seen,  the  prettier  they  looked,  espe- 
cially the  lighter-colored  one,  the  gray-headed 
junco,  as  ornithologists  name  it.  After  all,  thought 
the  bird-gazer,  the  Quaker  taste  in  colors  is  not 
half  so  bad  as  it  might  be.   But  it  was  wonderful 
how  much  that  little  patch  of  black  (a  clever 
beauty-spot,   such  as  he  seemed  to  remember 
having  seen  ladies  wear)  heightened  and  set  off 
the  bird's  general  appearance.    He  greatly  en- 
joyed the  sight  of  both  species,  as  they  fed  in 
the  road  or  under  the  sage-brush  bushes,  snapping 
their  tails  open  nervously  at  short  intervals  (as 
fine  ladies  do  their  fans),  just  like  their  Eastern 
relatives. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  sense  of  relief;  "I 
may  be  a  little  slow  with  canons,  but  I  do  not 
need  a  week  or  two  in  which  to  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  a  snowbird.  This  is  something  within 
my  capacity." 

It  is  no  small  part  of  the  comfort  and  success 
of  life  to  recognize  one's  limitations  and  be  re- 
conciled to  them. 

This  first  ramble,  which  did  not  extend  far, 
209 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

disclosed  surprisingly  little  of  animal  life.  At  an 
elevation  of  seven  thousand  feet  winter  is  winter, 
even  in  Arizona.  The  mixed  flock  of  snowbirds 
just  mentioned,  a  jack  rabbit  that  bounded  off 
into  the  woods  with  flying  leaps,  and  a  bevy  of 
chickadees  that  got  away  from  the  rambler  be- 
fore their  specific  identity  could  be  established, 
these  were  all. 

Then,  as  he  returned  in  the  direction  of  the 
hotel,  his  attention  was  taken  by  a  two-story 
house  which  some  one  —  a  photographer,  by  the 
sign  over  the  door  —  had  built  on  a  narrow  shelf, 
barely  wide  enough  to  hold  it,  a  little  below  the 
top  of  the  Canon  wall,  and  he  went  down  the 
footpath,  the  beginning  of  Bright  Angel  Trail,  as 
it  turned  out,  to  inspect  it.  A  knock  brought  a 
young  man  up  from  below,  with  an  invitation  to 
enter.  An  eerie  perch  it  was,  and  no  mistake. 
From  the  second-story  back  door,  which  had 
neither  steps  nor  balcony,  but  opened  upon  space, 
one  had  only  to  leap  over  a  narrow  wooden  plat- 
form, one  story  below,  to  land  upon  the  rocks,  a 
thousand  feet,  perhaps,  down  the  Canon. 

The  photographer  was  explaining  the  superior 
advantages  of  the  site  for  artistic  purposes,  when 
a  jay  dropped  into  a  pine  tree  just  out  of  reach  ; 
a  crestless,  long-tailed  jay,  wearing  a  beautiful 
fan-shaped  decoration  on  its  front ;  seen  at  a 

210 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE  CANON 

glance  to  be  a  congener  of  the  Florida  jay,  whose 
exceeding  tameness  and  other  odd  ways  make  so 
lively  an  impression  upon  visitors  along  the  east 
coast  of  that  peninsula.   On  being  asked  if  it  was 
often  seen,  the  man  replied,  "  Oh,  yes,  it  is  com- 
mon here.  But  it  isn't  a  jay,  is  it .?"  he  added  ; 
and,  being  assured  that  such  was  the  case,  he 
said,  "  Well,  we  have  another  jay  much  bigger 
than  this."  At  the  moment  it  did  not  occur  to 
the  visitor  to  ask  for  particulars  ;  but  it  transpired 
later,  as  he  had  suspected  it  would,  knowing  from 
the  Handbook  what  kinds  of  jays  might  on  gen- 
eral grounds  be  looked  for  in  this  region,  that 
the    **much  bigger"  bird  was  the  long-crested 
jay,  which  at  the  most  measures  about  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  more  than  the  one,  the  Woodhouse 
jay  by  name,  about  which  he  and  the  photographer 
had  been  conferring.  A  capital  example,  it  seemed, 
of  how  much  a  certain  style  and  carriage  (with  a 
lordly  crest)  can  do  in   the  way  of  swelling  a 
bird's,  as  well  as  a  man's,  apparent  size  and  im- 
portance. Have   we   not   read    somewhere  that 
Napoleon  could  on  occasion  look  some  inches 
taller  than  he  really  was.!* 

Meanwhile,  as  soon  as  luncheon  was  disposed 
of,  the  bird-gazer,  still  with  jays  troubling  his 
mind,  started  along  the  rim  of  the  Canon,  pick- 
ing his  way  among  stones,  dodging  the  deeper 

211 


FIELD-DAYS   IN  CALIFORNIA 

snows  and  the  softer  mud-spots,  toward  O'NeiU's 
Point,  which  could  be  seen,  a  mile  or  so  eastward, 
jutting  out  over  the  abyss,  as  if  on  purpose  for  a 
spectator's  convenience.  So  he  walked,  stopping 
every  few  steps  to  look  and  listen,  the  stupendous 
chasm  on  one  side  and  the  pine  and  cedar  forest 
on  the  other.  Mostly,  as  in  duty  bound,  he  gave 
his  thoughts  to  the  Canon;  but  if  a  bird  so  much 
as  peeped,  his  eyes  were  after  it. 

It  was  during  this  jaunt,  indeed,  that  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  mountain  chickadee  and 
the  gray  titmouse,  two  Westerners  well  worth 
any  man's  knowing.  The  mountain  chickadee, 
with  whose  striking  portrait  he  had  long  been 
familiar,  is  a  pretty  close  duplicate  of  the  com- 
mon black-capped  chickadee  of  the  Northeast- 
ern States,  except  that  the  black  side  of  its  head 
is  broken  by  a  noticeable  white  stripe  above  the 
eye.  If  all  birds  were  thus  plainly  tagged,  the 
lister's  work  would,  perhaps,  be  almost  too  easy. 
At  least,  it  would  be  much  less  exciting. 

This  mountain  chickadee  has  the  familiar  dee- 
dee  of  the  Eastern  bird, —  though  in  a  recognizably 
different  tone  and  with  a  different  prefatory  note, 
—  a  sweet,  thin-voiced,  two-syllabled  whistle, 
or  song,  and  the  characteristic  hurried  set  of 
sharp,  top-of-the-scale,  sibilant  notes,  which,  as 
we  may  conclude,  led  the  Indians  of  Maine  —  so 

212 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE  CANON 

Thoreau  tells  us  —  to  call  the  chickadee  Kcecun- 
nilessu. 

The  gray  titmouse  is  gray  throughout,  eschew- 
ing all  ornament  except  a  smart  little  backward- 
pointing  crest  of  gray  feathers.  In  general  shape, 
and  especially  in  something  about  the  setting 
of  the  eye,  it  suggests  that  monotonous  and  per- 
sistent whistler,  the  tufted  tit  of  the  Southeast- 
ern States.  Both  these  novelties,  as  well  as 
the  slender-billed  nuthatch  (the  common  white- 
breasted  nuthatch,  with  variations,  especially  of 
a  vocal  sort),  which  seemed  to  be  traveling  with 
them,  were  to  prove  regular,  every-day  birds  in 
the  forest  hereabout. 

All  in  all,  whatever  he  might  yet  think  of  the 
Canon,  our  rambler's  first  day  on  its  rim  could 
be  accepted  as  fairly  successful,  with  five  new 
species  added  to  his  slender  stock  of  ornitho- 
logical knowledge. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early  (or  rather 
dark  and  early,  for  he  had  breakfasted  and  was  in 
the  woods  long  before  sunrise),  he  took  the  road 
in  the  opposite  direction.  He  would  go  to  Rowe's 
Point,  —  another  natural  observatory  to  which 
all  guests  of  the  hotel  are  presumed  to  drive, 
—  partly  to  see  the  Canon,  and  partly  to  see 
the  forest  and  its  inhabitants.  The  trees,  as 
has  been  said,  are  mostly  —  almost  entirely  — 
213 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

pines  and  cedars.  The  pines  along  the  Canon's 
edge  (there  are  two  taller  species,  "yellow  "  and 
"black,"  in  the  slightly  lower  valleys  of  the 
plateau)  are  small,  with  extremely  short  leaves,  — 
so  short  that  very  young  trees  look  confusingly 
like  firs,  —  two  to  the  sheath,  and  prickly  cones 
hardly  bigger  than  peas.  PiTwiis,  the  stranger 
was  afterward  bidden  to  call  them,  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do,  with  lively  satisfaction.  It  is  always 
a  pleasure  to  find  a  name  out  of  a  book  begin- 
ning to  mean  something.  The  cedars,  many  of 
them  ancient-looking  (a  thousand  years  old,  some 
of  them  might  well  enough  be),  and  loaded  with 
mistletoe,  bear  a  general  resemblance  to  the  red 
cedar  of  the  East  (though  their  berries  are  much 
larger),  and  are  remarkable,  even  at  first  glance, 
for  branching  literally  at  the  ground,  making  one 
feel  as  if  the  earth  must  have  been  filled  in  about 
them  after  they  were  grown. 

Here  and  there  was  an  abundance  of  a  shrub, 
or  small  tree,  which,  the  photographer  had  in- 
formed the  newcomer,  was  known  locally  as  the 
Mexican  quinine  bush,  still  showing  its  last  sea- 
son's straw-colored  flowers,  —  many  stamens  and 
six  prodigiously  long,  feathered  styles  in  a  spread- 
ing, bell-shaped,  five-lobed  corolla.  The  foliage 
was  much  like  a  cedar's  in  appearance,  and  when 
crushed  yielded  a  resiny,  colorless  substance  and 
214 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT  THE   CANON 

an  extraordinarily  pungent  and  persistent,  agree- 
ably medicinal  odor. 

The  bird-gazer  was  noting  these  details  (the 
last-mentioned  bush,  especially,  being  a  most 
interesting  one,  with  which  he  hoped  some  time 
or  other  to  come  to  a  better  understanding),  and 
now  and  then  pushing  out  to  the  brink  of  the 
Canon,  every  point  affording  a  change  of  pros- 
pect, when,  to  his  surprise,  he  found  himself  at 
the  end  of  his  jaunt. 

Here,  surely,  was  a  grand  outlook.  He  was 
glad  he  had  come.  The  Canon  was  beginning  to 
fasten  its  hold  upon  him.  Far  down  (a  good  part 
of  a  mile  down)  could  be  seen  a  stretch  of  the 
Colorado  River,  and  now  for  the  first  time  he 
heard  its  voice,  the  only  sound  that  had  yet 
reached  him  out  of  the  abyss. 

**The  silent  Canon,"  he  had  caught  himself 
murmuring  the  day  before.  Indeed,  its  silence 
had  impressed  him  almost  as  much  as  its  ex- 
tent, its  wealth  of  color,  and  its  strange  architect- 
ural forms,  which  last,  one  may  almost  say,  are 
what  chiefly  give  to  the  Canon  its  peculiar  char- 
acter. One  gazes  upon  the  huge,  symmetrical 
artificial-looking  constructions  (''like  the  visible 
dream  of  an  architect  gone  mad  "),  and  thinks 
of  Coleridge's  lines  —  at  least  our  bird-gazer 
thought  of  them  :  — 

215 


FIELD-DAYS    IN   CALIFORNIA 

"  In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 

A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree  : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 
Down  to  a  sunless  sea." 

Scores  of  times  he  had  repeated  the  verses  to 
himself  during  the  last  day  or  two  (they  are 
worth  repeating  for  their  music,  though  no  less 
a  critic  than  William  Hazlitt  pronounced  the 
poem  "a  mixture  of  raving  and  driveling"),  and 
now,  when  he  saw  the  sacred  river,  its  muddiness 
visible  a  mile  away,  the  sight  gave  him  an  unpleas- 
ant shock.  The  river  that  the  opium-eating  poet 
saw  could  never  have  been  of  that  complexion. 
Some  such  romantic  feeling  as  this  was  upon 
him,  perhaps,  when,  happening  to  turn  his  head, 
he  beheld  close  behind  him,  at  the  tip  of  a  low, 
dead  tree,  the  form  of  a  strange  bird.  "Now, 
pray,  what  can  you  be  ?  "  he  exclaimed  under  his 
breath ;  and  in  one  moment  the  Canon  was  a 
thousand  miles  off.  Some  distance  back  he  had 
heard  a  musical  chorus,  suggestive  to  his  ear  of 
a  chorus  of  pine  grosbeaks,  and  then  had  seen 
the  flock  for  an  instant,  as  it  flew  across  a  clear 
space  among  the  trees,  moving  toward  the  rim 
of  the  Canon.  And  now  here  was  a  bird  right 
before  him,  a  finch  of  some  kind,  a  female,  in  all 
probability  (if  it  had  only  been  a  male  in  bright 
216 


THE    GRAND    (ANON 


A   BIRD-GAZER   AT   THE   CANON 

diagnostic  plumage  !),  streaked  with  dark  under- 
neath, sporting  a  long  tail  (for  a  finch),  and  for 
its  best  mark  having  a  broad  whitish  or  grayish 
band  over  the  eye.  So  much  he  saw,  and  then  it 
was  gone,  uttering  as  it  flew  the  same  notes  that 
he  had  heard  from  the  flock  shortly  before.  Prob- 
ably it  was  one  of  the  various  purple  finches,  — 
Cassin's,  as  likely  as  any,  a  species  due  in  this 
general  region,  and  having  a  longish  tail.  "  Prob- 
ably !  " —  that  is  an  uncomfortable  word  for  a 
bird-gazer,  but  in  the  present  case  there  seemed 
no  possibility  of  bettering  it ;  and,  when  all  is 
said,  probability  is  a  kind  of  half -loaf,  to  say  the 
worst  of  it,  a  little  better  than  nothing. 

Anyhow,  the  bird  was  gone,  and  gone  for 
good,  and  with  it  had  departed  for  the  time 
being  all  the  gazer's  interest  in  the  sacred  river, 
and  in  the  gaudy  colors  and  bizarre  shapes  of 
the  great  chasm.  A  path  beckoned  him  into  the 
woods,  and,  with  birds  in  his  eye,  he  took  it.  It 
was  well  he  did,  for  he  had  hardly  more  than 
started  before  he  stopped  short.  Hark  !  Was  n't 
that  a  robin's  note.?  Yes,  somewhere  before  him, 
out  among  the  low  pinons,  the  bird  was  cackling 
at  short  intervals,  —  the  very  same  cackle  that  a 
Massachusetts  robin  utters  when  it  finds  itself 
astray  from  the  flock.  Half  a  dozen  times  or 
more  the  anxious  sounds  were  repeated,  while 
217 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

the  listener  edged  this  way  and  that,  more 
anxious  than  the  bird,  twice  over,  scanning  the 
tops  of  the  trees  for  a  sight  of  the  ruddy  breast. 
He  saw  nothing,  and  anon  all  was  silent.  The 
bird  had  eluded  him.  A  Western  robin,  he  sup- 
posed it  must  have  been,  and  as  such  he  would 
have  given  something  for  a  sight  of  it.  Well,  if 
he  lived  a  week  or  two  longer,  he  should  be  in 
California,  and  there,  with  any  kind  of  luck,  he 
would  find  out  for  himself,  what  no  book  had 
ever  been  considerate  enough  to  tell  him,  whether 
the  calls  of  propinqua  are  so  exactly  the  same 
as  those  of  plain  migratoria.  Meantime  he  had 
added  another  name  to  his  Grand  Canon  list,  and 
was  back  at  the  Point  for  another  turn  with  the 
Eighth  Wonder. 

And  then,  as  frequently  before  and  after,  he 
laughed  quietly  at  his  foolish  self,  so  taken  with 
the  sight  of  a  bird,  and  so  inadequately  moved 
by  all  this  transcendent  spectacle  of  form  and 
color.  Verily,  as  common  wisdom  has  it,  it  takes 
all  kinds  to  make  a  world ;  and  among  the  all 
kinds  there  must  needs  be  a  few  odd  ones. 

But  for  all  his  laughing,  he  was  really  not 
quite  so  absurdly  insensible  as  he  was  perversely 
inclined  to  make  out.  The  Wonder  was  growing 
upon  him.  He  looked  at  it  oftener  and  longer, 
and  with  something  more  of  pleasurable  emotion, 
218 


A   BIRD-GAZER   AT   THE   CANON 

though  it  was  still  too  monstrous,  too  strange, 
too  little  related  to  any  natural  feeling.  He 
should  need  to  live  on  its  rim  for  months  or 
years  before  it  would  affect  him  according  to 
its  deserts.  Nay,  he  should  have  to  spend  long 
whiles  down  in  its  depths  ;  for  though  the  pre- 
sent slipperiness  of  the  steep,  snow-covered  trail 
made  the  descent  seem  an  imprudent  venture  for 
so  chronic  a  graybeard,  yet  he  did  more  than 
once  go  down  the  first  few  zigzags, —far  enough 
to  feel  the  awful  stillness  and  loneliness  of  the 
place,  and  to  realize  something  of  the  power  of 
those  frowning  walls  over  the  human  spirit. 

At  such  times  it  was,  especially,  that  he  felt  a 
desire  to  come  here  again,  in  a  more  propitious 
season,  and  to  spend  some  days,  at  least,  on  one 
of  those  lower  plateaus,  or  on  the  bank  of  some 
far-down  stream.  Birds  and  flowers  would  fill  the 
place,  the  canon  wren  would  sing  to  him,  and  the 
short,  shut-in  days  would  pass  over  his  head  like 
a  dream.  Even  as  it  was,  there  is  no  telling  how 
far  down  he  might  sooner  or  later  have  ventured, 
the  desire  increasing  upon  him,  but  for  a  wild, 
all-day  snow-storm,  which,  for  the  remainder  of  his 
stay,  put  all  such  projects  out  of  the  question. 

An  hour  after  hearing  the  robin,  while  on  his  • 
return  to  the  hotel,  he  came  upon  another  bird 
of  about  the  same  degree  of  novelty,  —a  brown 
219 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

creeper,  looking  almost  as  New-Englandish  as 
the  robin's  voice  had  sounded  ;  the  same  pep- 
per-and-salt coat,  the  same  faint,  quick  zeep,  a 
mere  nothing  of  a  sound,  yet  known  on  the  in- 
stant for  what  it  is,  anywhere  on  the  continent, 
and  the  same  trick  of  beginning  always  at  the 
bottom  of  the  tree  and  hitching  its  way  upward. 
Yet  it  was  not  exactly  the  bird  of  New  England, 
after  all ;  for  when  the  observer  met  with  it 
again,  as  he  did  on  sundry  occasions  (always  a 
single  bird,  —  another  characteristic  trait),  he 
perceived,  or  fancied  he  perceived,  that  its  coat 
was  of  a  lighter  shade  than  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  see.  The  Rocky  Mountain  creeper,  the 
book  instructed  him  to  call  it,  and  the  name 
sounded  sweet  to  him.  At  almost  the  same  min- 
ute, too,  he  had  his  first  clear  sight  of  another 
Rocky  Mountain  bird,  —  the  Rocky  Mountain 
hairy  woodpecker.  This  was  to  prove  one  of  the 
very  common  inhabitants  of  the  plateau.  Its 
emphatic,  perfectly  natural-sounding  calls  were 
heard  many  times  daily,  and  would  have  passed 
without  remark  anywhere  in  the  East.  In  per- 
sonal appearance,  however,  the  bird  is  clearly 
enough  distinguished,  even  at  first  sight,  by  the 
all  but  solid  blackness  of  its  wings. 

After  luncheon  the  bird-gazer  again  took  the 
field  (the  altitude  was  congenial  to  him,   and 

220 


A  BIRD-GAZER   AT   THE   CANON 

there  was  no  staying  indoors),  and  was  soon  in 
a  fever  of  excitement  over  two  jays  that  were 
chasing  each  other  about  in  the  tops  of  some  tall 
yellow  pines.  It  was  evident  at  once  that  they 
were  extremely  dark  in  color  and  had  most  ex- 
traordinarily conspicuous  topknots.  "The  long- 
crested,"  he  said  to  himself,  one  of  the  birds 
he  most  earnestly  desired  to  see.  "Now  is  my 
chance,"  he  thought ;  and  it  should  not  be  his 
fault  if  he  missed  it. 

From  tree  to  tree  the  birds  went,  now  to- 
gether, now  separately,  uttering  a  kind  of  grunt- 
ing note,  strangely  suggestive  of  the  gray  squir- 
rel, ridiculous  as  the  comparison  may  sound  ;  and 
still  he  could  never  get  either  of  them  with  a  satis- 
factory light  on  its  face,  which,  he  knew,  should 
be  marked  (if  his  opinion  as  to  their  identity 
was  correct)  by  narrow  up-and-down  white  lines 
on  the  forehead,  and  a  little  patch  of  the  same 
color  over  each  eye. 

At  last  one  dropped  to  the  ground,  a  happy 
chance,  and  began  feeding  on  something  found 
there ;  and  now,  after  patient  stalking,  our  man 
had  his  field-glass  on  the  bird  under  the  best  of 
conditions.  All  the  marks  were  present.  And 
what  a  beauty  !  (and  what  a  crest ! )—  one  of  the 
most  striking  of  all  North  American  birds,  of 
itself  a  sufficient  reward  for  his  winter  visit  to 

221 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

the  Grand  Canon.  If  he  were  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  would,  perhaps,  confess  that  the  sight  of  it 
afforded  him  —  for  the  moment  —  almost  as  keen 
a  pleasure  as  that  of  the  Canon  itself.  And  he 
might  have  said  as  much  of  a  flock  of  eight  or  ten 
pygmy  nuthatches,  engaging  creatures,  seen  on 
three  occasions,  with  notes  all  of  a  finch-like  qual- 
ity (in  that  respect  like  those  of  the  little  brown- 
headed  nuthatches  of  the  Southern  States),  and 
one  —  a  note  of  alarm,  it  seemed  —  almost  or 
quite  indistinguishable  from  the  sharp  kip,  kip 
of  the  red  crossbill.  The  hobbyist,  —  and  why 
should  any  of  us  feel  like  shirking  the  name, 
since  we  are  all  hobbyists  of  one  sort  or  another, 
—  the  hobbyist,  lucky  man,  has  joys  with  which 
no  stranger  intermeddleth. 

Every  one  to  whom  our  particular  hobbyist 
ventured  to  speak  upon  the  subject  assured  him 
that  there  were  no  birds  here  at  this  season ; 
and  indeed,  for  long  spells  together,  this  seemed, 
even  to  him,  to  be  something  like  true.  The  Co- 
conino forest  is  so  almost  boundless  that  the 
winter  denizens  of  it,  mostly  moving  about  in 
little  companies,  are  by  no  means  "  enough  to  go 
round,"  as  one  of  the  hobbyist's  outdoor  cronies 
is  given  to  saying.  So  it  was  that  our  bird-gazer 
often  sauntered  for  an  hour  without  being  re- 
warded by  so  much  as  a  lisp  ;  yet  he  felt  sure  all 

222 


A   BIRD-GAZER   AT   THE  CANON 

the  while,  and  the  result  always  bore  out  his  faith, 
that  even  here,  and  in  winter,  and  on  this  very- 
day,  time  and  patience  could  not  be  spent  alto- 
gether in  vain.  If  he  saw  nothing,  as  sometimes 
was  true,  on  the  two  or  three  miles  to  Rowe's 
Point,  for  example,  why,  there  was  still  the  chance 
of  something  on  the  return.  The  very  spot  that 
had  been  vacant  at  eight  o'clock  might  be  astir 
with  wings  an  hour  or  two  later;  for,  as  we  say, 
winter  birds,  with  no  family  duties  to  tie  them, 
and  the  cool  weather  to  enliven  them,  are  con- 
tinually on  the  go. 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  bird-gazer,  retrac- 
ing his  steps  after  a  long  jaunt  that  had  shown 
him  nothing  (nothing  in  his  special  line,  that  is 
to  say  ;  there  is  always  something  for  a  sensible 
pair  of  eyes  to  look  at),  was  brought  to  the  sud- 
denest  kind  of  standstill  by  the  sight  of  two  or 
three  birds  on  the  ground  a  few  rods  in  advance. 
"  Bluebirds  !  Bluebirds  !  "  he  said.  And  so  they 
were,  here  in  the  very  midst  of  the  wood,  impos- 
sible as  the  encounter  seemed  to  a  man  ac- 
customed only  to  the  bluebird  of  the  East,  which 
might  almost  as  soon  be  looked  for  upon  a  mill- 
pond  as  in  a  forest.  His  glass  covered  one  of 
them.  All  its  visible  under  parts  were  blue  !  It 
moved  out  of  sight,  and  the  glass  was  leveled 
upon  another,  and  then  upon  another,  as  oppor- 
223 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

tunity  offered.  And  all  but  the  first  one  had  the 
regular  red-earth  breast,  with  blue  throats  and 
bellies,  and  reddish  or  chestnut-colored  backs. 
Then,  to  the  observer's  sorrow,  they  suddenly 
took  wing  with  a  chorus  of  sweet,  perfectly 
familiar  calls,  and  in  a  moment  were  gone.  The 
all-blue  one  (the  mountain,  or  arctic,  bluebird,  as 
it  is  called)  was  new  to  him.  The  others,  of  the 
kind  known  as  the  chestnut-backed  bluebird,  he 
had  seen  once  or  twice  on  a  previous  visit  to  the 
Southwest.  Whether  on  the  deserts  of  southern 
Arizona,  or  here  in  the  mountain  forests  of  north- 
ern Arizona,  they  were  good  to  meet. 

If  only  they  would  have  stayed  a  bit  to  be 
looked  at,  or  if  they  could  have  been  pursued,  as 
in  New  England  one  pursues  the  first  spring 
bluebird  from  apple  orchard  to  apple  orchard  for 
pure  joy  of  seeing  and  hearing  it !  But  they  were 
gone  whither  there  was  no  such  thing  as  follow- 
ing them,  —  into  the  Canon,  to  judge  by  the 
course  taken,  —  and  neither  they,  nor  any  like 
them,  were  seen  or  heard  afterward. 

They  had  not  been  alone,  however,  and  the 
bird-gazer  was  still  for  a  few  minutes  abundantly 
busy.  Mountain  chickadees  were  lisping  and  dee- 
ing,  and  one  of  them  gave  out  once,  as  if  on 
purpose  for  the  Yankee  listener's  benefit,  his 
brief,  musical  whistle.  "Thank  you,"  said  the 
224 


A  BIRD-GAZER   AT   THE   CANON 

Yankee;  "do  it  again."  But  the  singer,  as  singers 
will,  refused  the  encore.  One  or  two  nuthatches 
and  a  hairy  woodpecker  were  with  the  group, 
almost  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  at  the  last 
minute  the  tiniest  bunch  of  feathers  was  seen 
fluttering  about  the  twigs  of  a  pine.  None  but  a 
kinglet  could  dance  on  the  wing  in  just  that 
tricksy  fashion;  and,  true  enough,  a  kinglet  it 
was,  a  goldcrest,  seen  for  a  glance  or  two  only, 
but,  even  so,  revealing  a  strangely  conspicuous 
white  or  whitish  band  on  the  side  of  the  crown. 
Another  Rocky  Mountain  stranger,  if  you  please, 
the  Rocky  Mountain  goldcrest.  Two  new  birds 
within  five  minutes.  Perhaps  the  bird-gazer  did 
not  go  on  his  way  rejoicing  !  The  road  was  rough, 
—  frozen  every  night,  and  muddy  to  desperation 
every  afternoon,  —  but  a  hobby  could  still  be 
ridden  over  it  with  comfort. 

And  here  seems  a  good  place  in  which  to  men- 
tion one  of  the  Yankee  visitor's  meteorological 
surprises.  Somebody  had  spoken  to  him  of  cold 
weather  lately  at  the  Canon,  —  zero  or  under,  — 
and  he  mentioned  the  report  to  his  friend  the 
photographer.  "  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  answer ;  "  prob- 
ably the  mercury  has  not  been  far  from  zero 
for  the  last  two  mornings." 

The  visitor  intimated  incredulity;  he  had  been 
strolling  in  the  woods  before  sunrise  on  both  the 
225 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

mornings  in  question,  standing  still  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  time  to  make  notes  or  listen, 
and  never  once  thinking  of  ears  or  fingers ;  upon 
which  the  photographer  smiled  and  advised  him 
to  consult  the  railroad  station-master,  who,  it  ap- 
peared, had  a  government  thermometer,  and  was 
the  official  keeper  of  the  local  weather  record. 
Well,  the  station-master  was  complaisant,  al- 
though an  official,  and,  on  turning  to  his  tally- 
sheet,  found  that  on  the  two  previous  mornings 
the  glass  had  registered  respectively  zero  and 
two  above  zero. 

The  man  from  Massachusetts  was  dumb.  He 
had  heard,  as  every  one  has,  of  the  efficacy  of  a 
dry  atmosphere  in  tempering  the  impression  of 
cold,  but  he  found  at  this  minute  that  he  had 
never  really  taken  it  in.  If  he  had  known  the 
standing  of  the  thermometer  he  certainly  would 
not  have  worn  his  summer  hat,  and  would  prob- 
ably have  thought  it  prudent  now  and  then  to 
try  his  ears.  Three  or  four  mornings  afterward, 
though  the  mercury  was  only  a  few  degrees 
lower  (five  degrees  below  zero),  he  confesses  that 
he  did  not  loiter.  With  a  raw  wind  from  the  north 
and  the  air  full  of  snow,  a  somewhat  rapid  gait 
was  taken,  as  by  instinct.  In  fact,  the  weather 
was  so  much  like  home  that  it  almost  made  him 
homesick  —  for  California. 
226 


A   BIRD-GAZER  AT   THE   CANON 

On  the  second  of  the  two  mornings  first  men- 
tioned, he  had  sauntered  to  O'Neill's  Point,  and 
had  remarked,  as  before,  how  the  white  frost 
covered  everything  (sign  of  a  warm,  pleasant, 
day  in  New  England),  giving  an  extra  touch  of 
pallor  even  to  the  pallid  sage-brush.  He  had  re- 
marked, also,  how  warmly  an  old  Indian  squaw 
was  wrapped  as  she  came  riding  through  the 
woods  on  horseback.  "Good  morning,"  said  the 
bird-gazer,  as  they  met.  "  Umph,"  said  the 
squaw.  Ah,  she  does  n't  understand  English, 
thought  the  bird-gazer,  and  he  tried  her  with 
"Buenos  dias."  "  Umph,"  she  answered  again; 
and  the  two  parted  as  strangers.  He  might  have 
had  better  luck  with  a  chickadee. 

Only  the  commoner  birds  had  been  found,  till, 
on  the  return,  in  a  break  in  the  forest,  of  which 
break  the  sage-brush,  always  straitened  for  room, 
had  taken  possession,  he  suddenly  descried  a 
flock  of  extremely  small  birds  of  a  sort  entirely 
strange  to  him :  slender  gray  birds,  with  long 
tails,  —  like  gnatcatchers  in  that  respect,  — and 
some  possible,  poorly  seen  darker  patch  on  the 
side  of  the  head.  He  looked  at  them,  and  looked 
again  (their  activity  was  incessant,  and  the  looks 
were  of  the  briefest),  and  then,  with  a  chorus  of 
little  nothings,  they  all  took  wing.  And  the  bird- 
gazer,  of  course,  followed  on.  Twice  he  came 
227 


FIELD-DAYS   IN    CALIFORNIA 

up  with  them.  "Bush-tits,"  he  said  to  himself; 
"they  can  be  nothing  else."  And  bush-tits  they 
were,  as  he  feels  confident  (but  he  will  be  surer, 
he  hopes,  when  he  gets  to  California),  of  the 
species  known  as  lead-colored.  It  was  a  shame 
they  should  have  been  so  restless.  There  was 
plenty  of  sage-brush,  on  the  seeds  of  which  they 
seemed  to  be  feeding;  but,  like  winter  birds  in 
general,  they  must  take  a  bite  here  and  a  bite 
there,  as  if,  by  sampling  the  same  thing  in  a 
dozen  places,  they  somehow  secured  variety. 
They  were  gone,  at  all  events,  and  the  bird-gazer 
was  starting  back,  half  jubilant,  half  disconsolate, 
toward  the  road,  when,  from  almost  under  his 
feet,  a  jack  rabbit  sprang  up  and,  with  a  leap  or 
two  over  the  sage-brush  bushes  (a  great  leg  with 
the  hurdles  is  the  jack  rabbit),  took  his  black  tail 
out  of  sight. 

Such,  by  the  reader's  leave,  were  some  of  the 
trifles  with  which  a  Yankee  bird-gazer  beguiled 
his  long-anticipated,  much-talked-about  week  at 
the  Grand  Caflon  of  the  Colorado  ! 

Stevenson  begins  one  of  his  early  essays  by 
remarking,  '^  It  is  a  difficult  matter  to  make  the 
most  of  any  given  place."  Of  course  it  is;  and 
not  only  difficult,  but  impossible,  as  he  would 
have  known,  had  he  been  a  few  years  older. 
There  will  always  remain  a  corner  unexplored,  a 
228 


A  BIRD-GAZER  AT   THE   CANON 

point  of  view  not  taken,  a  phase  of  modest  beauty 
imperfectly  appreciated.  Thoreau  himself,  it  is 
safe  to  assert,  did  not  make  the  most  of  Concord. 
And  after  that  what  hope  is  there  for  the  rest  of 
us.?  Of  course,  then,  the  bird-gazer  did  not  make 
the  most  of  the  Grand  Canon.  How  could  he, 
with  the  little  time  at  his  disposal,  the  unfavor- 
able season,  the  exceptionally  inclement  weather 
of  the  latter  half  of  his  stay  (it  was  twelve  de- 
grees below  zero  on  the  last  morning,  and  his 
farewell  communings  were  nothing  like  so  lei- 
surely as  he  could  have  wished),  and,  chiefest  of 
all,  the  peculiar  limitations  of  his  own  nature  ? 

No  doubt  he  might  have  used  words  about  it,  — 
there  is  many  a  fine  adjective  in  the  dictionary  ; 
but  adjectives  of  themselves  prove  nothing, 
unless  it  be,  too  often,  their  user's  imbecility. 
"Is  n't  it  pretty.?"  he  heard  a  lady  ask;  and, 
since  he  was  not  addressed,  he  did  not  reply,  as 
it  was  on  his  tongue's  end  to  do,  "  No,  my  dear 
madam,  it  is  noi  pretty."  On  another  occasion  a 
man  pronounced  it  "a  right  nice  view,"  ^  and 

1  It  was  something  to  his  credit  that  he  did  n't  say  "  awfully 
nice,"  a  locution  which  at  this  minute  the  bird-gazer  hears 
from  the  lips  of  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  She  knows  better, 
no  doubt,  but  cannot  help  following  the  fashion  in  the  use  of 
words  more  than  in  the  purchase  of  hats,  though  hats  and 
words  be  alike  barbarous. 

229 


FIELD-DAYS   IN   CALIFORNIA 

this  time  the  bird-gazer  could  only  nod  a  despair- 
ing assent. 

How  the  place  ought  to  affect  beholders  he 
does  not  assume  to  decide  ;  some  in  one  way, 
perhaps,  and  some  in  another.  For  his  own  part, 
if  now  and  then,  when  he  might  have  been  ad- 
miring the  painted  walls  and  the  yawning  abyss, 
he  found  his  eyes  resting  of  their  own  accord 
upon  the  snow-covered  San  Francisco  peaks  on 
the  southern  horizon,  who  shall  say  that  he  was 
necessarily  in  the  wrong }  A  mountain  two  miles 
high  is  a  commoner  sight  than  a  ravine  a  mile 
deep;  but  since  when  has  commonness  or  un- 
commonness  been  taken  as  a  test  of  beauty  or 
grandeur  >  Let  every  man  be  pleased  with  that 
which  pleases  him  ;  and  as  far  as  possible,  — 
which  probably  will  not  be  very  far,  — unless  he 
has  the  difficult  grace  of  silence,  let  him  tell  the 
truth. 

As  for  the  bird-gazer  himself,  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged, since  he  calls  for  truth-telling,  that 
even  to  the  last  there  remained  with  him  a 
question  whether  it  lay  within  the  power  of  this 
barbaric  display  of  shape  and  color  ever  to  evoke 
those  deeper,  tenderer,  more  serene  and  blissful 
moods  of  rapturous  contemplation,  such  as,  ever 
and  anon,  when  the  time  is  right,  descend  upon 
the  waiting  soul,  responsive  to  the  still,  small 
230 


A   BIRD-GAZER  AT   THE   CANON 

voice  of  the  commonest  and  most  familiar  of 
humble  landscapes. 

So  let  it  be,  he  said,  and  he  stands  by  it : 
grandeur  to  visit,  but  modest  beauty  to  be  at 
home  with. 


THE   END 


INDEX 


Alder,  154. 
Azalea,  190. 

Bay,  155. 

Bear,  195,  196. 

Bittern,  American,  166,  167. 

Blackbird,  tricolored,  169. 

Bluebird,  arctic,  223,  224. 

Bluebird,    chestnut-backed,    223, 

224. 
Bluebird,  Western,  114,  129. 
Buckeye,  California,  125. 
Buffle-head,  86. 
Buttercups,  187. 
Buzzard,  turkey,  58. 
Bush-tit,  lead-colored,  227,  228. 

Calycanthus,  193. 

Canvas-back,  86. 

Ceanothus,  195. 

Cedar,  214. 

Chickadee,   mountain,  212,   224, 

225. 
Christmas-berry,  113. 
Columbine,  190. 
Condor,  California,  93-99,  xo6. 
Convolvulus,  190. 
Coot,  American,  83,  84,  90. 
Creeper,  Califoraia,  142,  143. 
Creeper,  Rocky    Mountain,  2x9, 

220. 
Curlew,  Eskimo,  36. 
Curlew,  Hudsonian,  33-36,  85. 
Curlew,  long-billed,  or  sickle-billed, 

35- 
Currant,  wild,  115. 
Cypress,  Monterey,  194. 


Dipper,  American,  or  water-ouzel, 
100,  loi,  104,  105,  109,  110, 
153,  154,  193,  196,  197. 

Dogwood,  190. 

Duck,  ruddy,  86. 

Eagle,  bald,  98. 

Eagle,  golden,  96,  107,  114,  190. 

Fern,  maidenhair,  107. 
Finch,  Cassin's  purple,  217. 
Finch,  house,  or  linnet,  44. 
Flicker,  red-shafted,  114. 
Flycatcher,  Western,  150,  151. 
Fulmar,  70. 

Ginger,  wild,  147. 

Godetia,  193. 

Godwit,  marbled,  36,  45-49. 

Goose,  wild,  46,  47,  170. 

Gooseberry,  fuchsia-flowered,  125. 

Grosbeak,  Western  evening,  195. 

Grouse,  sooty,  191,  192. 

Gull,  Heermann's,  135. 

Gulls,  124. 

Hawk,   Western   red-tailed,  114, 

129. 
Heart's-ease,  mountain,  155. 
Heron,  great  blue,  40. 
Holly,  California,  115. 
Hummingbird,  128,  144. 
Hummingbird,  Calliope,  191. 

Iris,  147. 

Jay,  California,  96,  114,  142. 


233 


INDEX 


Jay,  coast,  142,  156. 
Jay,  long-crested,  211,  221,  222. 
Jay,  Woodhouse's,  210,  211. 
J  unco,  gray-headed,  208-210. 
Junco,  Sierra,  114,  143,  208-210. 

Killdeer,  12-14,  49. 
Kingfisher,  belted,  163. 
Kingfisher,  Texas,  163,  164. 
Kinglet,  Rocky  Mountain  golden- 
crowned,  225. 
Knot,  40,  41. 

Larkspur,  190. 

Lily,  spatter-dock,  188. 

Linnet,  44. 

Madroiia,  145,  154. 

Magpie,    yellow-billed,     1 1 1  -i  1 4, 

121-129,  168. 
Manzanita,  117,  173. 
Maple,  big-leaf,  154  and  note. 
Marigold,    marsh   {Caltha  lejito- 

sepala),  185. 
Meadowlark,  Western,  44. 
Mockingbird,  Western,  8. 

Nuthatch,  pygmy,  222. 
Nuthatch,  slender-billed,'ii4,  213. 
Nutmeg  tree,  California,  192,  194, 
195. 

Oak,  tanbark,  145,  146,  154. 
Oaks,  117. 

Ouzel,  water,   100,  loi,  T04,   105, 
109,110,153,  154,193.  196,197- 
Oxalis,  redwood,  146. 
Oyster-catcher,  black,  135. 

Pelican,  California  brown,  8. 
Pentstemon,  188,  189. 
Pepper-tree,  102. 
Phalarope,  yy. 

Phalarope,  Northern,  16,  41,  42, 
52-57. 


Phalarope,  red,  49,  53-55,  57. 
Phalarope,  Wilson's,  49-54.  1 
Phlox,  mountain,  188. 
Pigeon,  band-tailed,  III,  113,115, 

116,  173. 
Pine,  Monterey,  194. 
Pine,  sugar,  198. 
Pine,  Torrey,  194. 
Piiion,  214. 

Pipit,  6>r  titlark,  18-21. 
Plover,  black-bellied,  62-64. 
Plover,  semipalmated,  27,  28. 
Plover,  snowy,  9-12,  40,  49. 
Poppy,  tree,  115. 
Portulaca,  129. 
Primrose,  9. 
Puffin,  tufted,  j-j,  78. 

Quinine  bush,  Mexican,  214,  215, 

Rabbit,  jack,  210,  228. 
Redwood,  139-142,  144,  145,  147, 

148,  154. 
Road-runner,  125, 
Robin,    Western,   102,    114,    117, 

217,  218. 
Rose,  wild,  147,  202. 

Sage-brush,  227. 
Salmon-berry,  190. 
Sanderling,  16-18,  23-28. 
Sandpiper,  least,  27,  28,  49. 
Sandpiper,  Western,  49,  59. 
Sapsucker,  Williamson's,  188. 
Scoter,  surf,  29,  32,  33. 
Scoter,  white-winged,  28-33. 
Shearwater,  black-vented,  76. 
Shearwater,  dark-bodied,  76. 
Shearwater,  pink-footed,  76. 
Shearwater,  sooty,  or  dark-bodied, 

76. 
Shearwaters,  70-79. 
Snow-plant,  190. 
Solitaire,  Townsend's,  loi,  102. 


234 


INDEX 


Sparrow,  fox,  S3,  173. 
Sparrow,  golden-crowned,  116. 
Sparrow,  thick-billed.  See   Spar- 
row, fox. 
Spatter-dock,  188. 
Sun-cups,  124. 
Surf-bird,  42,  43,  136-138. 
Swallow,  violet-green,  191. 
Swan,  black,  47. 
Swan,  whistling,  80-92. 
Swift,  black,  173. 
Sycamore,  154. 
Syringa,  193. 

Tattler,  wandering,  132-134. 
Tern,  Trudeau's,  162,  163. 
Thrush,  hermit,  144. 
Thrush,  varied,  144,  145. 
Titlark,  18-21, 
Titmouse,  gray,  212,  213. 
Titmouse,  plain,  116,  117. 
Toothwort,  147. 

Torreyacalifornica, 1^2,  194,  195, 
Towhee,  spurred,  96. 
Trillium,  147. 
Tulip,  mariposa,  190. 
Turkey-buzzard,  58. 
Turnstone,  black,  36-40,  136. 
Turnstone,  ruddy,  36,  64-69. 


Verbena,  seaside,  9. 
Violet  {Viola  Beckwiihii),  155. 
Violet  {Viola  sannentosa)^  147. 
Violet,  long-stemmed  yellow,  124, 

147. 
Vireo,  Hutton's,  T07. 
Vulture,  California,  93-99,  106. 
Vulture,  turkey,  58. 

Wallflower,  107. 

Warbler,     black-throated    green, 

164-166. 
Warbler,  hermit,  152. 
Warbler,  lutescent,  127. 
Warbler,  Townsend's,  151. 
Water-ouzel,  too,  loi,  104,   105, 

109,    no,    153,    154,    193,    196, 

197. 
Wildcat,  59. 

Willet,  Western,  42,  45,  46. 
Woodpecker,  California,  142. 
Woodpecker,  hairy,  143. 
Woodpecker,     Rocky    Mountain 

hairy,  220. 
Wren,  caiion,  102,  103,  219. 
Wren,  Western  winter,  142,  143. 
Wren-tit,  116. 

Yellow-legs,  59-61. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S   .  A 


S02775252 


